A Motherfucking Dragon
by Cambrian Beckett
Summary: A Self-Insert fic, in which I find myself in the body of Drogon just as he's about ready to break free of his shell. Poor Daenerys, stuck with a perverse little fucker like me. Fair Warning, the Mature Rating will be well-earned.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Because I have absolutely no self-control. Let's see where this goes, shall we?**

 **-x-X-x-**

I awaken and immediately take note of three things. First, it is hot. In fact, it is sweltering, boiling. I'm burning up, or a thousand other terms that mean the same thing. Basically, heat. Except, the extreme heat does not matter. I know intellectually that this sort of temperature should be harmful to me, but instead, it is bolstering me, strengthening me. In fact, I'm fairly certain it's what woke me up in the first place.

The second thing I notice is the darkness, the confinement I find myself in. I am curled up tight in some sort of space that is truly miniscule in size. This will not stand, because the third thing I notice is tied into the fact that I am confined in this tight place. Basically, I'm suffocating. I need air, oxygen, something. My jaw opens, and a plaintive cry leaves it that does not sound at all human. My feet kick out and claws I did not expect to have rip at one of the walls of my confinement.

The wall is not strong and I feel my claws dig into it. So I keep at it, ignoring the strange aspects of my existence for a few moments as the alien mind operating right alongside my more human thoughts demands that we get out, Out, OUT!

I break free of my confines and pull myself free, throwing my head back and forth. My neck is longer than it should be, almost serpentine as I look about and see nothing but flames. They lap at me and the egg I was confined in, but it does not harm me. Fire cannot harm me or my new body, I know this instinctively and do not shy away from it.

Or perhaps the alien part of me, a new set of instincts that I did not have before awakening, knows it. Regardless, I open my jaw again and cry out once more. Then, my tongue snakes out and I taste my teeth. They are sharp and numerous and my mouth and lips do not feel at all human. But then, I am not human anymore, am I?

Looking back, I see the remains of the egg I have just broken free from. Looking down, I see the lizard-like body I now inhabit. My upper arms have wings now. My back legs have the claws I used to tear my way out of the egg. I am a dragonling, a tiny creature who will one day grow big enough to devour entire horses. Hopefully anyways, I still don't actually know what setting I'm a dragon IN.

Turning this way and that yields only more flames. Crawling through the high-burning fire, I look for signs of anything that can tell me where I am. In the end, I find it at the same time her beautiful, vibrant violet eyes find me. And now I know where I am.

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen looks at me with shock in her gaze. She sits among the fires, her clothing burnt from her but her flesh, her naked, nubile young body is completely untouched. Of course it is. She is as dragon as I am. My instincts scream this at me, but my memories are in agreement. While Dany is a human or whatever the Planetosian equivalent is, she is also the blood of dragons, of Old Valyria. She does not burn, no matter how hot the flames.

I open my jaw and cry out to her, the action almost entirely instinctive and involuntarily. Startled from her wide-eyed surprise, the silver haired girl finally moves. She gets off her shapely, fine ass and crawls over to me, reaching out as if unsure if I'm real or not. I do not attempt to bite her, though there's a slight desire to do so as her pale fingers come into reach. Instead, I lean in and bump my head against her hand.

A tentative smile spreads across her face at my action and when she reaches out to me with both hands, I allow her to pick me up, before immediately claiming space on the front of her body. The Mother of Dragons (of which I am one, hooooly shit) sits back on her ass once more and I take advantage of the moment to nuzzle my small head between her soft, delicious tits.

I may be a dragon… but I still have a human mind. A slight gasp falls from Daenerys' lips and I know I'm stimulating her, arousing her. If I could have grinned wickedly in that moment, I would have. Instead, I settle for snaking my tongue out and licking at her. I lap at the black soot that is settling on her body, seemingly for the purposes of cleaning her… but I focus an inordinate amount of attention on her breasts of course.

At the same time, my long tail, the longest appendage I have at this point, slides down into her lap. I'm sure she thinks it can't possibly be on purpose, but I still writhe my tail against her moistening cunt all the same. The sinuous appendage slides up and down and a surprised moan of desire slips free of Daenerys' perfect, full lips.

She's going to be beautiful as she finishes growing. I honestly can't wait. Though of course, there's only a small window in which I'll get to fuck her. I have to start conditioning her to accept these kinds of advances now, because once I'm too big to pin her down and take her, I'll have to depend on her to initiate contact herself.

Still, I can imagine it, in my mind's eye. I can see Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, stripping naked and wrapping her lithe, beautiful body around my massive cock, rubbing herself up against me and licking my length in the same way I lick her tits now. Yes, it will take some work… but I will make the last Targaryen my slutty little dragon bitch. She can have the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. I'll gift them to her, all on my own if I have to. But I will have her… oh yes I will.

Her hands suddenly curl around me and it's clear that Daenerys has finally come out of the haze of pleasure enough to realize this is wrong, even if she is enjoying it. For the first time, I growl, my small front claws clutching at her flesh and my tail lifting up, only to slap down with a sting across Daenerys' slit and clit. The silver haired girl gasps in surprise and pain and looks down at me with wide, violet eyes. I don't pay her any mind though, instead I continue to nuzzle my head into her cleavage and tits.

She doesn't try to move me again. Honestly, she's lucky I'm not giving breastfeeding a shot. Fuck, she just had a kid right? Man, I'll try some other time. For now, need to start slow.

As time passes and Daenerys tries to hold back her intermittent orgasms, completely ineffectually, my brothers join us. She'll name them Viserion and Rhaegal, according to my foreknowledge. I've already looked at myself enough to realize I'm Drogon. Which is nice and right and proper. If I was going to be reborn a dragon, I fucking better be the largest of the three. Whether I'd let Drogon's animal mind, which I'd long since figured out was the alien brain that kept trying to wrest control of my actions from me, actually be as aggressive as he'd been in the canon, well, that was to be decided.

Regardless, I hogged our 'mother's' front and Viserion and Rhaegal were not nearly as lecherous as I was, so they did not try to fight me for the right to molest Daenerys. Instead, Viserion hiked his way up onto her shoulder and Rhaegal stuck to her back, winding back and forth to look at me with big eyes from either side of her.

Whenever he got too close, I hissed at him… and whenever our 'mother' tried to admonish me for the action, I gave her another smack across her clit to remind her of just who was in charge here.

Still, all good things come to an end. The fires abated and it became far, far too cold for my tastes. Luckily, Daenerys remained nice and warm and delicious, even as she stood up and I had to cling to her to keep my place on her front. All three of us dragonlings stuck to her like glue as she walked forward, but I looked back behind me all the same to see what she was looking at.

Ah, there was the remnants of Dany's 'khalasar'. Most of them would be dead soon. Could I stop that? Would I? Eh, probably not. Though her handmaidens were certainly hot. And then… there was Jorah Mormont. I couldn't help but glare at the potential rival to my 'mother's' affections. I mean, intellectually I knew that Jorah never got fuck all anywhere with her, but he still lusted after her just as I did.

It seemed my foreknowledge and my lustful intentions were slipping into Drogon's bestial mind, because the dragonling that I was sharing brain matter with was immediately hostile of Jorah and it was hard for me to rein that in. Still, in the end I managed it, even as the two met in the middle of the burnt field.

Jorah looked shocked. Understandably so. The exiled knight falls to his knees and stares at Daenerys reverently as he speaks in an awed tone.

"… Blood of my blood."

Everyone follows suit. Those who have stuck around kneel before the woman who has brought dragons into this world for the first time in a hundred years. If I could, I would roar at this point. It's certainly what my bestial instincts tell me to do. I must declare myself ruler over this lot of kneeling humans. I must proclaim my magnificence!

Except, I know exactly how weak and pitiful my cry is at this point in time. Rather than open my jaws and embarrass myself, I content my instincts by sliding my tail one last time through Daenerys' puffy aroused pussy lips. To her credit, the beautiful young woman keeps her composure, though I feel her legs wobble for a second all the same.

I stop at that point. No reason to ruin her credibility by bringing her to orgasm in front of the last people willing to follow her. Still, my dragon lips curl back to show rows of wicked teeth, as I direct a particularly triumphant look at Ser Jorah Mormont. He can't possibly understand what it meant, but that was fine. What mattered was that I knew what it meant.

Breaking eye contact with the exiled knight, I look out at the barest remnants of Drogo's khalasar… and at the wasteland beyond them. My lips pull back down as I lose any humor or amusement I'd felt.

Right… next was the trek to Qarth… through the red waste.

Fuck me, this was NOT going to be fun…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Enjoy~**

 **-x-X-x-**

The journey through the Red Wastes to Qarth was every bit as taxing as I'd expected. And yet, there was one thing, one teensy tiny thing I managed to change, even though I was the size of a fucking chihuahua in my new dragonling body.

Watching my new 'mother' try to feed Viserion and Rhaegal with uncooked horse meat was almost painful, as she fumbled with the raw flesh and they steadfastly removed to go for it. She's tried to feed me some of the stuff earlier as well, and I'd been a bit more receptive, fighting down Drogon's draconic instincts to try and have a go at it.

… Yeah, I wasn't ever fucking doing that again. Raw meat tasted fucking AWFUL. About as awful as it would to a human, or so I assumed. I'd never had anything but well done to medium well in my past life so I couldn't really confirm one way or the other. Suffice to say, dragons did not consume raw flesh. It just wasn't digestible.

Mm, my past life. Thinking about who I truly was and how I'd ended up in a dragonling's body… I was certainly calm on the whole matter. I probably died. Or I didn't and was simply plucked from my old life in my sleep. Funnily enough, while I could acknowledge that I was remarkably at peace with the abrupt change from human on Twenty-First century Earth to Dragonling on whatever the fuck era Planetos, I couldn't actually get upset about it.

I figured that was by design. My mind wasn't allowed to panic or shut down or go insane. Whatever had done this to me, hadn't wanted to watch me freak out, if the mysterious force/being/whatever was anything like the Omnipotent Beings I'd always written about. No, I'd undoubtedly been put into Drogon's body for something's amusement, or for some great purpose. Either way, the end result was the same. I was allowed to understand how fucked up all of this was… but I wasn't allowed to have a conniption fit over it.

Whatever, it didn't matter to me. We were finally stopped for a moment, the small group of Dothraki that still followed Daenerys making camp for the sight, since the sun was setting and it was getting fucking cold. As such, I could finally put my idea into action. Crawling forward from the rock I'd been sunbathing on before the sun finally set over the horizon, I crawl up to my mother and brothers.

Daenerys' violet eyes land on me and I see the way she stiffens a bit in worry, while at the same time leaning towards me slightly without even realizing it. I stare up into her eyes and after a moment, she offers the piece of raw flesh to me. I claw it out of her fingers, careful to make sure I don't accidentally tear through HER flesh in the process.

With both she and my brothers watching on, I pin the raw meat to the ground and finally attempt to put my plan into action. I open my mouth… and I try to breathe fire. Unfortunately, it doesn't work. I know for a fact that I'll be able to breathe fire soon though, given it only takes a couple months for Daenerys to teach Drogon the 'Dracarys' command in canon.

As such, I SHOULD be able to just do it now, right? I am a creature of fire. Even in the cold, even now I can feel something akin to a small furnace in my chest, my gullet. I should be able to blame some of the hottest flames that have ever been felt on this world. My first attempt ends in a feeble cry that makes it look like I'm trying to roar at the uncooked meat for some reason.

I don't give up though. My second and third attempts are no better than the first. My fourth however, yields a result that has Daenerys gasping in sudden understanding. I do not breathe fire as I'd hoped to do, but a small plume of black smoke finally does leave my open maw, washing over the raw flesh in a way that tells Daenerys all she needs to know.

"Cooked… you need COOKED flesh! Fire! I require a fire, now!"

Of course, some of the Dothraki are already setting up such things now that the cold is coming. In no time at all, I'm settled beside a fire with my brothers, watching lazily as Daenerys sears horse meat over the open flames by literally just holding it out in one hand. She does not burn, but the horse meat does and it burns satisfactorily.

I allow Viserion and Rhaegal to both have first bites, but then I shoulder my way past the two slightly smaller dragonlings. Daenerys moves to stop me as I begin to feast on far more than my 'fair share', but I simply lash at her hand with my tail. Not enough to split the skin, but enough to remind her of the times I'd disciplined her so far since coming into this world.

Much to my pleasure, the silver haired Targaryen girl pulls her hand back, watching in mute silence as I eat half of what she's cooked. When she makes more, I once again let Viserion and Rhaegal each have a couple bites, but then I steal the rest of what she intends to be theirs for myself regardless.

You see, I have a theory that I must put to a test, and not even Daenerys Stormborn of the motherfucking House Targaryen is going to stop me. Not when there are so many threats coming our way. Basically, I'm hoping that the faster I start eating, the MORE I manage to consume… the faster I'll grow. Daenerys' dragons grow slowly at first in the show. And then they have rather large growth spurts that seem them capable of riding quite swiftly.

The way I see it, their growth spurts probably came from when they finally started to fly away and feed themselves. Once they were able to become gluttons on sheep from the farmlands around the cities Daenerys would inevitably conquer, they grew in leaps and bounds, Drogon most of all.

Well, I wouldn't abandon Daenerys out of hand like the canon Drogon had, but I also wouldn't settle for anything but the fastest path to growing big, strong, and powerful. There was too much about to happen for me to just stay passive going forward.

Time passed and eventually Daenerys ran out of horse meat to feed us. It had all come from her mare, which from what I remembered, had died from exhaustion a day's travel back. Regardless, once properly cooked it'd felt delicious. And I felt bloated, nice and full as I crawled my way into Daenerys' lap. The young woman looks around furtively for a moment as I snake my tail underneath her leathers, but she doesn't try to move me.

Good girl, she's learning fast. I've done this with her almost every chance I get, and the young woman is far, far too adoring of me and my siblings to truly put her foot down. With my head resting on her inner thigh and my body nice and curled up, I drift off to sleep with my tail running back and forth along her swiftly moistening slit. Daenerys is soon gasping, trying to hold in her moans, but I make sure to bring her to at least one climax before I finally fall asleep.

I'm actually getting quite good with my tail, and quite skilled at finding the weak points along her slit and clit. When her frame shudders and she has to huddle over me to contain her reaction to the reluctant orgasm I've coaxed out of her, my lips curl back and my rows of sharp teeth show in a very human-like grin, even as I let my eyes shut and sleep take me.

-x-X-x-

Fuck I hate the damn cage. During our trek across the Red Wastes, I barely ever let them put me in it. I even had to bite Daenerys' fingers once to make it clear to her that the cage was a no go for me. Eventually though, she'd learned. I'd rode on her shoulder, or on top of the cages that my brothers were kept in whenever I could tell she was growing weary of my weight.

Regardless, when we finally approached Qarth, only then did I hop down and allow them to place me in the cage. A roughly spun blanket it tossed over myself, Viserion, and Rhaegal, and despite a desire to roar my discomfort more than once, I kept silent as Daenerys 'negotiated' with the Council of Thirteen.

As in the show, the Spice Merchant fucker is a total ass. Though… if I'm being completely honest, that's probably my bias speaking. If I was in his position, I wouldn't just be a complete dickwad, I'd probably have the guards slaughter the rest of Dany's followers including her last protector, Ser Jorah Mormont. Then, I'd have myself and my brothers put to the sword. Daenerys would either live as a pleasure slave or die as a khaleesi alongside all of us.

It was the smart move. Unfortunately for the Thirteen of Qarth, they were not truly a smart people. And I was not in the Spice King's head, no I was in Drogon's head. And so, when we were let into the City of Qarth on the back of Xaro Xhoan Daxos' declaration of Sumai, I once again smiled a human-like smile beneath the blanket that covered my temporary prison.

These idiots wouldn't know what hit them.

-x-X-x-

"Dracarys."

I eye Daenerys in silence, even as my brothers obey her command and burn the pieces of meat in front of them with dragon fire. She pouts at me, her violet eyes troubled as I refuse to obey. After a moment, she leans forward, her beautiful face and full lips inches from mine.

"What is it Drogon? You must learn to breathe fire. Your brothers understand, why do you not?"

Turning my head away and my snout up draws a choked sound from my new mother.

"You… you do understand. But you will not obey, will you? My most willful child, what must I do to earn your favor? Do I… do I not already give enough?"

I let my eye slide back to her, watching her as her eyebrows scrunch up and her lips curl downwards into an expressive frown. Still, I do not yield. Not until finally, the golden word passes through her lips.

"Please Drogon… please."

I immediately turn towards the piece of meat before me, angling myself so I am facing out over the courtyard that we are currently overlooking. The resulting plume of dragon fire that leaves my maw is a good three feet long and quite wide, but it hits nothing and no one but the meat in my path, which is cooked instantly.

Of course, I certainly manage to surprise those standing guard below, as well as Doreah, Daenerys' traitorous handmaiden who even now is watching from my mother's side. The girl jumps back with a cry of alarm as the heat washes over her despite my directing it away from her. Meanwhile, the last Targaryen doesn't feel even a bit of it as she lets out a gasp of delight and quickly picks me up.

I allow this indignity as it places me right up against her chest. In her new style of dress, flowing long robes instead of Dothraki horse leathers, I can slide right down her top and hide beneath her garments with no one truly understanding what I'm doing… besides Daenerys of course. Fortunately, in her moment of happiness, the silver haired beauty has forgotten about my new habit.

Quickly taking advantage of this, I slide down through her cleavage as she lets out a yelp and stands up. Before she can even begin to try and extract me, I've shifted around until I'm in my proper place on the front of her body. My growing wings spread out along her sides and my front claws dig ever so slightly into the small of her back as she stiffens. This gives me the time to slide my tail down between her legs, the length of the ever-growing appendage going all the way down her slit and up between her ass cheeks now.

At the same time, my head pokes back up from beneath her dress, nestled perfectly between her breasts. My eyes meet violet irises and Daenerys lets out a sigh, slumping in defeat even as Doreah closes in once more.

"You spoil him."

I glare at Doreah, though given the difference in species, I don't think I really get the point across with my look. She's looking back at me, but with greed and a lust for power in her eyes. This one is a traitorous cunt and while she's certainly pretty, I'll be perfectly happy to let Daenerys lock the bitch in with that other fucker, Xaro Xhoan Daxos.

It's unfortunate though, that I'll have to allow myself to be taken. I'm half again the size of canon Dragon by this point, if my memory serves me well. I have also been working on my fire breathing, and by this point I imagine I could fight off servants sent to capture me alive. However, I'm not one hundred percent sure. What I am sure of, is that if I let myself and my brothers be taken, Daenerys will come for us, we will burn the House of the Undying to the ground, and Qarth will fall as a result.

The straight and narrow will see my mother rising to her place as Queen, and that's the only place I shall have the woman I intend to make some sort of dragon consort. Oh yes. Daenerys must stay powerful and she must become wealthy… after all, how else am I going to amass a hoard of gold and maidens both? How else am I going to grow even bigger still, on the meat that the position of Queen will allow my mother to provide?

"I must spoil him. Dragons are not tamed Doreah. They are never tamed. These are wild and savage creatures. But one can bond with them, befriend them. Viserion, Rhaegal, and even Drogon… I think they know that I am their mother. I believe they feel affection for me, kinship with me… we were all reborn in that pyre in a sense, after all. Drogon is just a bit more… willful than his brothers. If I attempt to control him, it will not end well, I know that much."

Doreah bows her head a this.

"It is as you say Khaleesi…"

I continue to glare at her as Daenerys steps away from the ledge and allows me to keep my perch within her dress. I reward the beautiful Targaryen with a bit of molestation, my tail working away at her clit… and perhaps just a bit at her ass as well, the tip of it flicking against her sphincter. To her credit, the violet eyed young woman keeps her composure, even as she moves slowly to the bed.

The resulting grin across my maw is hidden by me nuzzling into her delicious, soft boob flesh.

-x-X-x-

God it was tempting to burn everything. But no, I'd let it happen. And now here we were in the House of the Undying. Daenerys had gone through her little spirit walk and finally arrived in the room where my brothers and I had been chained to a pedestal. I thought I might just be able to break free of the chain. The metal strained around my neck, thicker than my brothers' necks as it was. My body was stronger and more than that, I had a human mind. I had already thought about hooking my claws into the chain links binding me to the pedestal so that I may tear them apart and fly free.

But no, for now I remained where I was as I watched Daenerys approach us. And then, Pyat Pree was there, twice over.

"They missed their mother. They want to be with you."

God he sounded slimy as fuck. Then the second one spoke up from the opposite side of the room.

"Do you want to be with them?"

"You will be."

"When your dragons were born, our magic was born again."

"It is strongest in their presence."

"And they are strongest in yours."

And then there's a third one. Holy fuck, they're bouncing back and forth and damn, this is actually a really, really creepy scene. I hadn't realized how much of a horror genre moment this was in the show. Probably because the Warlocks weren't quite as secure as they thought, even with their vaunted magics.

"You will be with them. Through winter, summer, and winter again. A thousand, thousand seasons, you will be with them."

And then Daenerys has manacles around her wrists and there's a fourth bald fucker talking as they wind her chains tight.

"And we will be with you, until time comes to an end."

As Daenerys' arms are pulled taut in each direction, the Pyat Pree in front of her steps forward, being as creepy as the rest. I ache to blast him in the face with dragon fire… but I'll let my mother have this one. It'll be good for her, for her self-esteem.

"Welcome home, Daenerys Stormborn."

I take note of the rest of the identical Warlocks vanishing. It is only the one before us now, as Daenerys answers him.

"This is not my home. My home is across the sea, where my people are waiting for me."

"They will be waiting a long time."

He delivers it so fucking deadpan, like holy shit I want to wipe this fucker off the face of this world. When Daenerys looks back at us, chained up as we are, and I see the gleam in her violet eyes, I can't help but grin savagely. Here it comes. She looks back to the Warlock, as he leans forward to stare at us. And then she says it. One simple word.

"Dracarys."

It is the first time I follow the command. It might be the last, but never say never right? Regardless, a ball of dragon fire leaves my gullet, sailing out from under Daenerys' arm and striking Pyat Pree directly in his chest. His robe immediately catches alight as the less impressive flames of my brothers join my own on his body.

Pyat Pree screams as he falls to the ground, trying, yet failing to put out the dragon fire. He burns to death and it is fucking glorious. But of course, there's still the matter of getting free. Daenerys looks back to us and even as she gives the order once more, I'm testing my physical might against my own chains. Viserion and Rhaegal burn through the metal shackles encasing Daenerys' wrists, leaving her flesh completely fine as she in turn frees them from their collars.

Meanwhile, I've freed myself already, hopping down off of the pedestal and making my way swiftly across the floor. While our mother is focused on my brothers, I am aiming for the greater prize. My jaws descend and I take my first bite of burnt Warlock. It's fucking delicious. I keep eating, even as Daenerys' voice reaches me.

"Drogon! Drogon NO! What are you doing?!"

I turn my head to look at her as if to say, 'the fuck does it look like I'm doing?' She can't honestly expect me not to partake just because the flesh was human, can she? She'll get over it eventually, I distinctly remember her threatening to feed people to her dragons several times in canon. I continue to chow down, devouring as much of Pyat Pree's dead body as I can.

Suddenly however, I'm beginning to feel a little woozy. It's as I stumble back from the Warlock's body in a sort of drunken haze that Daenerys' next words reach me.

"Drogon! Drogon!"

Belatedly, I remember something important. The Warlocks of Qarth, of which Pyat Pree was one, drank a strange, thick blue wine knew as the Shade of the Evening. It allowed them to do… to do something. Shit, my head was swimming. Letting out a weak cry from my maw, I fall back as my eyes roll around in my skull.

Damn… warlock bastard… drugging me with… his tasty, crispy flesh.

Mother FUCKER.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: So the Warlocks of Qarth (or at least Pyat Pree) claim that the dragons make their magic stronger. Now, just imbibing straight Shade of the Evening probably wouldn't do anything for SI!Drogon... but what do you guys think eating Pyat Pree's charred corpse might do, if anything? After all, if Drogon makes THEM stronger, what would they do for him?**

 **Should SI!Drogon get anything from this besides a wicked drug trip? Let me know and feel free to give specific ideas. I'll either take 'em or leave 'em ;)**

 **Also just in case it isn't clear, I cribbed Pyat Pree's dialogue in the chapter straight from the Show.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Did you guys expect another chapter tonight? Because here it is.**

 **-x-X-x-**

The moment that they were safely sailing away from Qarth, the city in a state of turmoil behind them, what with its leaders dead, Daenerys headed down below deck, rather than stay above. There she found Drogon, with both the sailors and her Dothraki giving her sleeping dragon a wide birth. Letting out a sigh, the silver-haired, violet-eyed Targaryen girl settles down onto her knees beside the body of her most willful child.

He still breathed at least. She could see that much, the rise and fall of his scaled chest. Slowly, Daenerys reaches out and runs her hand along it, grimacing as his head turns this way and that. He is undoubtedly the largest of her three dragons at this point. The cage she once carried him in alongside his brothers (at least, when he was willing) would no longer fit his size. A new one will have to be built, though given how Drogon is most days, she imagines it won't see any more use than the last one.

Daenerys truly doesn't know what she's going to do with him. He is loyal to her, but in no way that can be called subservient. Viserion and Rhaegal have at least shown a willingness to learn and follow commands in High Valyrian. Meanwhile, Drogon, though she knows he understands her, distinctly refuses to obey unless it's an order he WANTS to follow.

And of course, then there's the touching. If she didn't know any better, Daenerys would think her eldest dragon thought her its mate, rather than its mother. But that would be ridiculous. She might have been a Targaryen, but she was not a true dragon…

Running her hands back and forth across Drogon's underbelly, Daenerys can't help but be worried for the dragon. Surely he should have awakened by now. And yet, he'd consumed more than half of Pyat Pree's charred corpse before succumbing to whatever negative affect eating the Warlock had had on him. Shade of the Evening… in large doses, it could be bad, Daenerys knew that much.

But then, was eating someone saturated in the stuff a large dose or a small dose? Ultimately, what would happen to Drogon as a result of consuming the warlock's body?

Unknowingly, Daenerys is broadcasting her worry and trepidation out to anyone with even half an ounce of psychic ability. Of course, normally that would not matter out here in the middle of the Sea. None of her Dothraki were mind readers and Ser Jorah Mormont certainly wasn't one. But then, the dragon that she's currently making skin contact with is swiftly becoming something more than he was before.

 _Mate. Desire. Lust._

Daenerys' stiffens as she feels sensations that are not her own run through her body, her mind, her very soul. The violet eyed woman is confused for a moment, until she feels a pair of inhuman eyes on her. Looking down, Daenerys finds herself caught in Drogon's gaze. Her willful child has woken and he's looking at her with a very specific type of hunger in his eyes. But how? How does she know what he's thinking when she could never truly read the creature before?

"D-Drogon?"

A sort of rumbling purr leaves her eldest dragon's throat as he rises and moves towards her.

 _Pleasure. Mate._

"No Drogon! Now is not the time!"

Before he can get any closer, she holds up a hand. It actually works, her words and her physical barrier stop him as he blinks and cocks his head to the side.

 _Confusion._

"I can… I can feel you. In my head. This is amazing. Can you feel me?"

The growing dragon stiffens at that, even as Daenerys attempts to push out all of her love and adoration and satisfaction with her 'child' towards him. His eyes shift from side to side for a moment and his long tongue snakes out, sliding across his many sharp, pointed teeth. He ducks his head after a moment and then leans forward to bump her in the chest with the top of it.

"You can feel me… how can this be?"

 _Confusion. Hunger._

Of course. Drogon is many things, but in the end, he is still just a dragon. Daenerys smiles sardonically.

"Right, sorry. You're hungry, aren't you? Well, for now we've got some meat for you… but soon you're going to have to start going hunting yourself Drogon. We're out at sea now, on our way to Astapor. Where we will go after that, what we will do next… I know not. But that is our destination, for now at least."

She doesn't know how much Drogon understands of what she's saying. He looks at her lazily, but there's nothing more that comes across this new bond of theirs beyond his hunger for food. With an airy laugh, feeling on top of the world, Daenerys Targaryen rises to her feet and guides her growing dragon up to the top deck in order to feed.

One day, she will be on top of the world. Drogon will carry her there.

-x-X-x-

So that happened. Eating Pyat Pree was maybe a mistake? It'd definitely left me out of the rest of the Qarth shenanigans, and it'd fucked me up something fierce until Daenerys' emotions or thoughts or feelings had torn through my dreamy stupor. I couldn't honestly remember all that I'd dreamed about. Pretty crazy shit was the general impression I got when I tried to think back to it, but it was all just one big haze in the end.

On the other hand, I just couldn't quite bring myself to regret eating the druggie warlock. Somehow, it'd opened up my mind enough that I could now push my emotions and vague senses of my desires onto those around me. Daenerys had initially thought it was a bond between the two of us, but when Jorah had stood just a little too close to my 'mother' in my presence, my ever-diminishing Drogon half had sent a spike of anger towards the Exiled Knight before I could catch it.

Jorah had gone down on one knee from the vehement emotion slamming into his mind and I'd gotten the smallest of scoldings from Daenerys before she idly commented that Jorah should probably stay a respectable distance back to avoid angering me. Yeah. Fuck you Jorah.

Regardless, now we were almost there. I could see Astapor in the distance, even as I flew a hundred feet or so above Daenerys' head. Oh yeah, did I mention I'm flying now? Fucking fantastic. I could fly pretty early on, but I was kind of a huge coward. Becoming a baby dragonling that could get shot out of the sky by a single fucking arrow had kept me grounded.

Now that, after a month at sea and plenty of fish to consume in the waters that surrounded our ship, I was nice and big. Over twice the size of my siblings by this point, I was actually almost as big as a small pony… or Daenerys herself. Still had some little ways to go though. I was going to be the biggest motherfucker that ever lived if I had anything to say about it… which I did.

My incredible eyesight suddenly catches something swimming fast through the waters below. Without a second thought, I swoop down and disappear beneath the waves. I've done this move a hundred times now, and by this point, I've damn near perfected it. As such, even as my jaws close around one fish, my back claws latch onto two more from the school that I'm quite literally ripping apart.

I come out of the water triumphantly, three wriggling snacks in my grasp. The first to go is the one in my jaws, as I spit it out, roast it in midair, and then catch it in my maw again, all in one smooth move. Damn I'm good. The other two follow once I'm done swallowing down the first, tossed up above my head and burned just as swiftly.

By the time I come in for a landing, I'm chewing and swallowing the last charred fish. I'm too big for the ship's railing, so I have to land on the deck itself as Daenerys approaches with a wide smile on her face and Ser Jorah follows her at a small, cautious distance. Good boy.

"They're growing fast…"

That's Jorah of course, and while my mother's smile widens a bit, there's something else in her eyes as I nuzzle into her hand and then past it to bump against her chest.

"Yet only Drogon grows fast enough… I cannot wait for Viserion and Rhaegal to match him and my ancestor conquered the Seven Kingdoms with three dragons, didn't he? I need an army."

As Jorah and Daenerys begin to discuss the Unsullied, I bump into my 'mother' a bit more and she sighs, settling down onto her knees as she continues to speak to the exiled knight. I lay my head in her lap greedily, mindful of those watching us. If we were alone, I'd be up under her dress right now, doing things with my tongue that would have her screaming. As it is, there hasn't been time for any such privacy on the ship unfortunately.

Still, I've kept up with Daenerys' training with moments like this. Even as she speaks to Jorah about the slave soldiers they will find in Astapor, she absently strokes my scales, her smooth palm sliding down the back of my head as her other hand scratches at the underside of my chin. I'm not sure she truly realizes she's doing it. Or if she does, she's accepted her lot in life as my personal chin-scratcher at this point.

Now if only I could get her to accept everything else I have in mind for her. Still, if things go as they should in Astapor, I'll have my chance to extract… concessions. My lips curl back and I bare my sharp teeth as I contemplate what is to come. This will be fun.

-x-X-x-

The time finally arrives after Daenerys' second meeting with the Good Master Kraznys mo Nakloz. It was amusing to think that in another life, I'd written a story in which he did the smart thing and simply enslaved Daenerys where she stood, killing me and my brothers before we could become true threats. He would then go on to break Dany's mind in my story, making her the perfect obedient sex slave.

Hm that wasn't the only story where I'd done something similar either, ironic how so many of my story ideas in my past life involved killing the dragons and enslaving the woman I was now intent on making sure stayed Queen. Focusing on the here and now however, I watch through lazy eyes as my 'Queen' approaches. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen is understandably nervous as she walks up to me. Though to her credit, she shows none of her trepidation outwardly. The two knights that follow her, the slave girl at her side… they probably sense nothing. Well, not until her voice cracks just a bit.

"Ser Selmy. Ser Mormont. L-Leave us."

There is a pause, but neither of the men question her as they bow and depart from the courtyard in which I've essentially made my nest. Missandei, dark-skinned beauty that she is, stays silent and out of the way as Daenerys comes to a stop only a foot away from me and kneels down. I stare at her with one draconic eye and for good measure, I blow out a puff of black smoke. Daenerys shudders, as if taking this as confirmation.

"You can feel it, can't you? My guilt and shame. I am sorry Drogon, but you must understand that what I do is for both of us, not just myself."

I snort at that and finally rise. Missandei gasps at my full size and takes a step back, but Daenerys does nothing as I wind a circle around her, just big enough to do so, though not big enough to fully encompass her in my body yet. As I do so, I push my emotions onto her. I focus on confusion and interest and sexual hunger, the last one being something that I always try to keep in her mind when we're this close together.

"I've… I've sold you my beloved. To a slaver."

Even as she speaks, I can feel her emotions launch back at me. She's trying, poorly I might add, to convey her plans to me through vague sensations and feelings. Her actual plan is to take control of the Unsullied and betray the Good Masters and all of Astapor. She does not intend to actually sell me, but with Missandei still an unknown factor, Daenerys does not dare say this out loud.

Another snort leaves my snout and another black puff of smoke leaves my maw, washing over Daenerys' face. At the same time, I send my own emotions back at her. Understanding and trust… but also an extra helping of sexual desire. I angle myself so that my next action is hidden from the dark-skinned slave that Daenerys has technically used me to 'purchase', and then I rub my growing draconic cock against my mother's body for the first time.

The silver-haired young woman stiffens, gazing down at me with violet eyes filled with shock and concern. But after a moment, she shudders once more and then nods.

"Leave us."

Thanks to me, all that Missandei can see is the back of Daenerys' head and her hunched in shoulders.

"Your Grace, a-are you sure you'll be alright?"

That gets a huff of laughter from my mother.

"There is nowhere I am safer, than in my child's embrace Missandei. And if I were not safe here, you would be no more capable of saving me then my knights. Go. It will be fine."

I watch the beautiful young woman bow her head to Daenerys' back and depart. Then, I brush the underside of my neck against the back of my mother's neck, and begin to push her down. She obeys like the good, conditioned mate that she is. My cock rises in anticipation and a moment later, Daenerys Targaryen's full, pouty lips open up to take the first bit of my ridged draconic length in between them.

It is clear that she has no experience with this, but I send her satisfaction and pleasure in equal amounts and that seems to galvanize her into action as her movements become more enthusiastic, her own desire to please me radiating back out into my mind. Her hands come up and she strokes my thick length in the same way she might stroke my belly or my scales. Her tongue swirls around the tip of my member and her lips slide back and forth as she takes more and more of me into her mouth.

She doesn't get much before she hits the back of her throat though, and I'm not quite interested in face-fucking what might as well be a blushing virgin. While Daenerys certainly had enough sex with Drogo to know how it worked, the joys of oral, especially with a dragon, was not something I could reasonably expect her to have experience in.

It was as much a learning experience for my young mother as it was a pleasurable encounter for me. I growled and I purred, and for good measure I fed Daenerys all of the pleasure I was feeling as she continued on. With her hands and her mouth, the woman I'd conditioned to become my mate brought me to completion. My cum finally spilling out only serves to surprise her though. Daenerys rears back with wide violet eyes and only gets a face full of dragon seed for her trouble, as my ejaculate spurts all over her beautiful features, her silver hair, and even her covered chest.

By the time I'm done, her dress is ruined. But then, I'm just a dragon, so what do I care? I do watch as she tastes a bit of my seed and then a bit more. I'm intrigued when she outright devours my cum right there on the spot. Is dragon cum addictive? Now wouldn't that be a fucking treat…

Eventually, Daenerys has cleaned herself up as best she can. When she's ready to depart, she moves in and hugs me around my neck.

"Soon, we'll topple this awful city to the ground Drogon. You and me, together."

I nuzzle her back and purr my agreement, sending my desire to burn and consume across to her mind. She tenses as my emotions no doubt translate into rather gory mental images, but then she smiles a not-at-all nice smile and stands up.

"Soon."

And then she leaves. I watch her go, my eyes mostly focused on her shapely ass as it appeared ever so briefly in the curve of her dress with every sway of her hips. One hole down. Two more to go.

I was going to tap that ass before the end came, that much was for sure.

-x-X-x-

Judgment Day. I remain docile as Daenerys in the large wooden cage that Daenerys has me transported to the arena in. I could easily break free and burn the whole place to the ground, but eye on the prize and all that rot. Even now, I see the lines of Unsullied. Even now I hear Kraznys speaking and Missandei translating his words to Daenerys.

Oh man, the fuckers have no idea that she can speak Valyrian. I almost forgot about this part! It's really, honestly, a highlight of this whole arc. Kraznys has been talking so much fucking shit right to Daenerys' face this entire time. And he never knew that my mother was absorbing every word of it. His attitude no doubt influenced her decisions just as much as his callous and cruel actions. But then, a man of Kraznys' position had to be callous, cruel, and very mean spirited, in order to do what he did to other humans.

The door to my cage suddenly opens and I can't help my very human-like grin as Daenerys takes me by my leash and leads me out of the cage. I also can't help preening just a bit as I feel hundreds of eyes on me. I'm even longer than Daenerys is tall at this point, and my tail swishes back and forth behind me as people gasp in shock and stupefaction at seeing a real-life dragon for the first time.

Daenerys passes the end of my leash to Kraznys mo Nakloz. Kraznys in turn passes a whip with a harpy-shaped hilt. This symbolic gesture is the end of the transaction, right then and there. These idiots really should have had a contract written up instead. But hey, I probably would have burned it up if they'd been that smart, yet still stupid enough to deal with dear old mom.

Sucks to suck fuckers. Kraznys is trying to pull me somewhere as Daenerys does her little language trick, but I steadfastly refuse to move from my spot on the ground now that my mother is no longer holding the leash. The Good Masters finds a half-grown dragon much harder to dislodge than an unruly slave as he pulls ineffectually at the leash.

And then comes the most beautiful moment.

"Tell the bitch that the dragon is not obeying my commands!"

Before anyone else can say a word, Daenerys turns to look at Kraznys and I, though her violet eyes are mostly locked with my own golden gaze.

"A dragon is not a slave."

It's in that moment that Kraznys stops tugging at my leash as the bald fucker realizes that he's been played. It's also in that moment that I steal just a bit of Daenerys' show, though she'll never know it. Now that Kraznys is no longer pulling, it's my turn. I tug sharply and the idiotic man comes with the end of the leash, pulled off the ground with a yelp as he lands at my clawed feet. Our eyes meet for a brief moment, even as Daenerys begins to shout out her canon orders to the Unsullied legions before her. Then, I'm roasting the Good Master alive with dragon fire, and he's in turn screaming in agony as he burns to a crisp.

The fighting begins all around me, but I'm far too focused on eating Kraznys mo Nakloz. Luckily, there's nothing magical about him… or the ten other slavers that I manage to cook and consume before the day is done. Some are alive when I get to them, some are already dead. It makes no difference. I eat and I eat and I eat and Daenerys' new Unsullied show themselves to be quick learners as they leave me to my constant meals.

By the time I am finished, I feel nice and bloated. Meanwhile, my mother has had her own far more minor accomplishment. Astapor is sacked and she now has an army with which to retake the Seven Kingdoms. Of course, I know better than that. We're far from done here in Slaver's Bay, unless I endeavor to change things dramatically.

Hm. Should I? Now there's an interesting thought.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: So I guess its time for another discussion. I'm considering having SI!Drogon 'step in' so to speak when it comes time for Daenerys to meet with Yunkai's representative. You know, the fucker who offers her gold as a gift and then tries to get her to go back to Westeros by offering as many ships as she needs to transport her and her army home.**

 **I'm wondering at just how much impact SI!Drogon would have if he tried to influence Daenerys to take the deal. Maybe he even goes as far as to impart feelings of impending doom in Westeros upon his mistress, kind of like "Hey, if we don't get over there now, everyone is probably going to fucking die before we do. Let's goooo bitch!"**

 **What do you all think? Option A: Continue on through canon with dragon lewds along the way... or Option B: Derail everything, go to Westeros early.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: There wasn't going to be a chapter tonight, originally. I was feeling kind of tired. But then I went and did this anyways. To be fair, this is a shorter chapter and it doesn't truly advance the plot at all. Be advised. This is just pure smut.**

 **-x-X-x-**

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen… is conflicted, to say the least. She presses her lips together in a thin line as she walks along, Missandei at her back. She has just finished speaking with the one among them that the Unsullied have made their new commander. Grey Worm's words echo through her mind and resonate with her very soul.

According to the young man, he believed his old name to be cursed, for it was the name he had the day that the slavers came for him. But Grey Worm, by that same token, was in fact lucky. He told her it gave him pride to wear the name Grey Worm, because that was the name that he had the day that she, Daenerys Stormborn, freed him and all his brothers.

She does not feel worthy of such loyalty, such praise. Sometimes, she feels like a lost little girl who cannot help but run to the safety and comfort of the one thing she feels can protect her. Well, he probably wouldn't approve of being called a thing…

Daenerys rounds the corner and a wide smile spreads across her face as she takes in the appearance of her children. Drogon, twice the size of his much smaller brothers, lounges across a particularly large rock as Viserion and Rhaegal both greedily consume a charred horse a bit away. The dragons are out of sight of the main army, and those that follow her like it that way. They are discomforted by her beautiful children, Drogon most of all. Even Missandei…

"Missandei, you should go now."

Her dark-skinned servant bows low and prepares to leave, only to cry out and drop to her knees as Drogon transmits a sudden burst of desire and emotion to both she and Daenerys. Only the Targaryen, the dragon-blooded, is able to stay standing as Drogon makes his lusts known. As such, she steps in between her most aggressive child and her servant and shakes her head back and forth.

"Drogon! No! If you must… then you will make use of me and no other."

There is a pause and the only sound is Missandei's shuddered breathing behind her as Drogon seems to consider this for a long moment. Then, her dragon sends desire again, but this time Daenerys can tell it's meant for her and her alone. For now… Missandei is safe.

"Missandei… leave us."

"Y-Your Grace, I-…"

"Leave, now."

She hates being so short with the young former slave. She wants to be close to Missandei, but in this at the very least, Daenerys must but stern. Once the dark-skinned woman is gone, she approaches Drogon slowly, carefully, as the large dragon slips onto his side a bit more and exposes his already growing cock. Licking her lips, Daenerys crouches down beside her beautiful child.

Ever since Astapor, this had become a daily occurrence. It was her fault, she knew that much. She truly did spoil him, just as Jorah had warned back on the ship. And yet, how could she not? She loved all three of her dragons as her children… but there was so much more to her bond with Drogon. She reaches out with both hands, one sliding down Drogon's chest and belly, and the other grasping at his draconic cock.

Just like the rest of his body, his dick was growing fast, not just because of his arousal, but simply from day to day in overall size. She's taken him into her mouth easily that first time back in Astapor. Now she could barely fit her lips around his cockhead without stretching her jaw beyond its breaking point. Still, once he grew anxious and agitated from just her hand stroking at his length, Daenerys leans forward, and does as she must.

The silver-haired, violet eyed beauty's tongue lashes at the tip of Drogon's member as she bobs her head back and forth along the very top of his massive ridged member. This is what she can manage and any more than this risks doing irreparable damage to her mouth. So far, Drogon has seemed to be aware of this. He has pushed her no further. Of course, the day before she could take just a couple more inches of his cock into her open lips.

Now… Daenerys is not entirely surprised when Drogon's claws suddenly rest in her hair, though she does stiffen in momentary fear before relaxing. She knows he will not hurt her. Slowly, Drogon uses his gentle, tender grip to pull her head back. His nostrils flare as he breathes in her scent. Then, the sensations blast across their connection once more and Daenerys' eyes widen as she realizes what she wants from her.

She finds herself staring at his ridged cock, now held in both of her comparably small hands as her smooth palms stroke at it.

"It would… it would never fit Drogon. Surely you can't-"

Before she can even finish the sentence however, her eldest child growls and sends her the same sensations, emotions, desires as before. There is a bit of reassurance along with them though this time around. He will not hurt her, no matter what, he will not harm her. Daenerys can't help but whimper, even as she feels slightly comforted by his words.

All the same, the young woman, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms takes her hands from Drogon's cock and turns away from him. Biting her lower lip, Daenerys hikes up her dress until her beautiful, shapely ass is exposed. Leaning forward, she sets her face against the cold dirt she's knelt on, even as she lifts her hips up.

Drogon's massive shape causes a shadow to fall over her as he encompasses her small form with his entire body. She shivers as his cock runs along her underside, sliding up along her belly and abdomen and navel, until the tip of it, slick with her saliva and attention, comes to a stop against the slit between her thighs. Drogon's claws rest on either side of his head as he nudges at her entrance experimentally.

To Daenerys' relief and shame, there's more give than one might expect. She's wet, as embarrassing as it is to admit it. Getting Drogon off day after day has become an arousing experience for her, not least of all because of how delicious his seed is. And so, as the eldest and largest of her children by far begins to push into her, her wet, dripping cunt spreads open for him and sucks his length inside of it.

He is as big as one would expect, bigger even then she'd ever expect to be able to take. But his seed has had effects on Daenerys' body that she's unaware of. As a result, Drogon's cock spears into her far past the breaking point, without actually breaking anything. The moment of fascination and horror for Daenerys comes when she looks back beneath her and can literally see her dragon's cock bulging out of her belly as he plunges into her.

Her cervix is certainly not obstacle and he's soon inside of her womb. It is at the same time the most pleasurable and most painful thing that Daenerys Stormborn has experienced, and given her life experiences up until this point, that is no small thing.

A keening sound leaves the silver-haired woman's throat, but Drogon is covering her in his wings as he fucks into her. Even if someone comes to the dragon's place, perhaps to try and find her, Daenerys knows they will not see her and hopefully they will not hear her either. She is completely covered, pinned down by Drogon's massive body as he continues to fuck her with nice, long, powerful strokes.

Is it wrong to compare the cock of her dragon child to that of her Sun and Stars? Perhaps it is, because in Daenerys' pleasure-fevered mind, in that instant, she cannot help but find her dead husband to be entirely wanting. As the first orgasm wracks her young, nubile body, Daenerys Targaryen cannot help but both silently and not-so-silently praise the virtues of dragon dick.

"F-Fuck Drogon… gods you're so big…"

It doesn't help that the entire time he fucks her, Drogon assaults her mind with his pleasure, with his desire. As his arousal builds and hers builds alongside it, it feels almost as if he is penetrating her thoughts even as he penetrates her body. He fucks her cunt, but he also fucks her soul and it makes the experience all the more euphoric for the young woman as she gets her first true taste of dragon cock.

And then the beginning of the end starts. Daenerys' violet eyes widen as she feels Drogon's member begin to pulse and throb inside of her. Before she can do anything besides open her mouth, though what she would say, she knows not, he is cumming inside of her. Daenerys' open mouth turns into a silent scream as no sounds issue forth, even as her eyes bulge out of her skull and her womb is bombarded with a hose of dragon cum.

By the time Drogon is done cumming inside of her, Daenerys is wiped out, both mentally and physically. When he pulls back from her, the young woman doesn't even realize that its human hands who arrive to help her, pulling her dress down and lifting her to her feet. As she staggers away from her smug, satisfied child with an arm slung around someone else's shoulder and a limp in her step, she does not see or acknowledge that Missandei has come back to help her… and later, when she awakens, she does not remember Missandei even being there.

As such, she has no idea that as Missandei helps her away from Drogon, the dark-skinned former slave looks back at the intelligence in the dragon's eyes and bites her lower lip, far too curious for her own good.

-x-X-x-

I was fairly certain that my mother was too out of it after our little sexual encounter to even realize that Missandei had disobeyed her orders and stuck around. That was fine though, because I certainly wasn't. I'd seen the beautiful dusky young woman watching from behind a rock fairly early on. My eyes had met hers and I'd held Missandei's gaze, even as I hid my mother from her view and began to penetrate the beautiful Targaryen Queen.

The entire time that I'd been plowing Daenerys beneath the cover of my wings, I'd also been staring at Missandei. All the pleasure and desire and lust that I'd pushed onto Daenerys during the mating, I'd also sent Missandei's way as well. It was no wonder that she began to masturbate partway through the experience. She couldn't see anything of course, but the dark-skinned girl could still feel everything that I was doing to her mistress. Watching her orgasm right alongside Daenerys was certainly a treat.

When I'd finally pulled away from my mother, her pussy filled with my cum and then some, Missandei had been quick to right herself and run to my mother's aid. I was quite impressed with the way she set aside her own pleasure so quickly in order to be at the side of the woman who'd given her freedom. Even as Missandei helped a limping Daenerys away from me, I could see her own long, lithe legs wobbling a bit.

And of course, when she'd looked back over her shoulder at me, I'd sent the young woman my nicest bit of mental focus. It was mostly just emotions and vague sensations, but translated, if she even could translate it, I basically told her to come back later alone if she wanted to get some herself.

… I'd figured it had something like a fifty/fifty chance of working, going off what I could smell of her arousal in the air.

Now it seemed that things had come down on the side of the fifty percent where she DID show up, because while my siblings slumbered nearby and the army that my mother had managed to commandeer slumbered under the light of the full moon, Missandei stood before me wearing a simple cloak. I looked her up and down and snorted, as if unimpressed. As a result, she reached up and undid the cloak's clasp, letting it drop, to pool at her feet on the ground.

I raise my head to show my interest is piqued. The former slave is certainly a curiosity as she approaches me with a blush on her face. Pushing my desire on her sees her reel. Her legs buckle and she falls to her knees before me. A moment later, she's pressing her forehead and palms to the ground as well, actively prostrating herself before me in worship.

"G-Great Dragon… I beg of you… mercy."

I tilt my head to the side curiously, even as I send her a pulse of confusion. Slowly, Missandei raises her head. Her chocolate eyes meet my own amber irises and she licks her full lips even as sweat gleams off of her dusky skin.

"Y-You tease me… I n-need release. Please, I will do anything… A-Allow me to worship you, as my mistress does."

Damn, I hadn't known I'd given it to Missandei so bad… well, why the hell not right? Rolling onto my side, I allow my draconic cock to become exposed to the former slave girl. As soon as she sees the movement, her eyes widen in surprise and delight and a moment later she's at my side, her hands already reaching for my length. She takes it in her hands and I watch, intrigued as she strokes at my cock in the exact same way Daenerys would.

It would seem a certain enterprising slut has been spying on me and my mother for longer than I thought. Was it only in recent days, or was it from all the way back in Astapor, that very first time? Had she watched us from behind a wall as Daenerys sucked me off? Regardless, Missandei is quick to follow my mother's example. She rubs her smooth palms up and down my cock even as she opens her mouth as wide as she can to suck the tip of my member in between her wide, full lips.

This is one area where Missandei excels over Daenerys, though I would argue that the dark-skinned beauty is just as gorgeous as my mother, just in different ways. Missandei has a wider mouth than Daenerys and it shows as she pushes her jaw to the limit and takes not only my cockhead but also the next two ridges of my draconic length in between her lips.

She chokes a little on my dick, but that doesn't stop her from swirling her tongue around the bit she's managed to get in her mouth. Nor does it prevent her from beginning to bob up and down along my girth, as much as she can manage anyways. I lean back and watch her, enjoying the experience immensely. Daenerys is eager to drink my seed, that much is true, but the oral experience between the two women is immediately apparent.

Missandei has sucked more cocks in her life than my mother, that's just a simple fact, setting aside the likely reasons for why that is. Still, at least this time is her choice… sort of. It's apparent that my ability to project my emotions and desires onto humans goes beyond just communication. I've driven Missandei to this, made her desperate to have a taste of my pleasure.

Well, might as well give her what she wants. As Missandei goes to town on my cock, I make sure to send all of my pleasure and enjoyment along to her. She moans wantonly and sends distinctly delicious vibrations up my cock as she does so, which in turn gets sent to her. When the dusky young woman cums just from bobbing up and down on my cock I almost miss it, but when the second orgasm comes around shortly after the first, I don't miss that one.

Missandei's lower half squirms and shakes and spasms even as she happily works at my shaft until finally, I can no longer hold back. My release surprises her, as I give no warning. Her eyes go wide as my cum spurts into her mouth and tries to go down her throat. She chokes and gags and it flows back up, exploding out of her nostrils and the corners of her mouth. It amuses me, that back in my old world this sexual moment is referred to as an 'angry dragon' and I'm, well… I've never been further from angry in this moment, heh.

In the end, the former slave looks like quite the mess by the time I'm done with her. My white, hot seed looks absolutely amazing against her dark skin, a startling bit of contrast as she tastes a bit of my seed and then quickly devours all of it, just as fast as Daenerys had. Once she's done, she pulls back, coughing a bit still. Then, she bows before me again before rising and moving to her cloak. Once she's put it back on, Missandei spares me one last glance.

"I… thank you, Great Dragon."

And then she blushes even harder, ducks her head, and leaves just like that. I can't help but snort derisively at her departure. Silly slut, thanking me… mm, but perhaps she should at that. It was a great privilege, getting to pleasure a dragon.

… I snort in derision again, this time at myself. God I'm getting full of myself at this point.

Still, was it arrogance if it was true? Lounging back, I let out a low yawn that rumbles all the way up through my chest. A nice blowjob/handjob combo was just what I needed to give myself a nightcap. Now I would soon fall into a nice, deep slumber, just like my sleeping siblings. And tomorrow, I'd go ahead and go hunting for some more meat. Couldn't start slacking off just because we were out of Astapor and on our way to Yunkai now after all.

I might have lost my easy supply of slavers to cook and chow down on, but eh, there'd be more in Yunkai. Daenerys wasn't about to stop me from eating my fair share of human flesh. I saw my best growth when I was consuming the "other white meat".


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: The more things change, the more they stay the same~**

 **-x-X-x-**

In the end, I was not pushing too hard for Daenerys to abandon Slaver's Bay and move onto Westeros. But I was pushing. With our relationship growing ever closer, I spent many a day and many a night impressing on her feelings of trepidation and agitation. I turned her eyes west with nothing but emotions, feelings, vague images sent from my mind to hers.

And maybe, just maybe I filled her dreams with the cold dark death that was currently making its way towards the Wall. I didn't know for sure on that front, I couldn't directly control my mother's dreams, only influence them from afar. Still, she did not sleep all that well anymore, at least not without being by my side. I welcomed her under my wing though, and let her get true rest whenever she did come to me to escape the nightmares.

I was kind of a bastard like that.

My liaisons with Missandei continued as well. The dark-skinned woman snuck off to see me almost every night, and it became particularly amusing, watching her try to get her dragon cum snack while Daenerys slumbered only inches away from her. My silver-haired mother slept upon my chest and Missandei crouched down between my legs, using her hands and tongue and lips to work at my shaft until I discharged the tasty treat she'd come to rely on all over her face and hair and chest.

At the same time, I was getting bigger and bigger. I would not allow my growth to stagnate, even if I was now fucking my mother's extremely tight cunt on the regular. No, each day I would leave the marching army of Unsullied behind and go hunting. I found all sorts of creatures on our way to Yunkai, but my favorites were definitely the scattered wild elephants I was able to burn to death with my dragon fire, and eat all by my lonesome.

Yes, I'd definitely changed things, and no more was this obvious then now, when I lounged back and watched the one Yunkai had sent to negotiate approach on a litter carried by slaves. Daenerys still sat beneath the tent I remembered from the show. It was still the same man I remembered as well. But the biggest key difference was where Daenerys sat… and the fear I saw in the man's eyes as he beheld me.

My mother shifted ever so slightly along my scales, resting as she was on my large, curled up body. I could feel her arousal through her dress, though she remained entire composed, not letting an ounce of her lust through to her face. It was admirable, and I resisted the urge to tease her, either mentally or physically. She would need her strength for this conversation.

I take up most of the back of the tent that we sit in. I certainly take up all of the space where the dais and the couch that Daenerys would have sat upon had rested. My brothers are now the size that I was when Daenerys handed over my leash to the deceased Good Master Kraznys mo Nakloz. They remain relatively quiet as they perch to the side of us however, because even now I am still twice the size of Viserion and Rhaegal both. They are submissive towards me, acknowledging my strength and my power, as is right.

There is no screeching or posturing from me or my brothers as Yunkai's representative rises from his litter and approaches our tent. Missandei's voice cuts through the silent air as I catch hold of the man's gaze and keep it, my own large, amber eyes staring into his.

"Now comes the noble Razdal mo Eraz, of that most ancient and honorable house. Master of men and Speaker to savages. To offer terms of peace."

There is a pause, but Razdal is unmoving, still staring into my eyes even as Missandei continues after a moment.

"Noble lord, you are in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons."

Fucker of Dragons too, I can't help but think as my lips curl back into a human-like grin and my rows of sharp teeth finally startle the Yunkai representative from his staring. Just in time too, as Daenerys finally speaks.

"You may approach. Sit."

Even as Razdal mo Eraz approaches, his eyes continue to glance towards me. I am still staring at him, unerringly so. There might not be screeching or lunging to frighten him this time around… but a silent dragon is just as frightening, I can feel this from the Wise Master of Yunkai, even as I feed his fear and stifle his self-righteous indignation, already rising up as it is.

The Wise Master drinks when Missandei offers it. But when the time comes for him to speak, he seems at a loss for words. Truly? Have I derailed him so easily, with but a bit of mental trickery on my part? There is a long pause, far longer than I recall from canon. Eventually, Daenerys grows impatient.

"You are here to offer terms of peace are you not? I believe I made it clear that I expected to accept Yunkai's surrender at this meeting."

Startled from the verbal reprimand, the man who had to be at least ten to twenty years Daenerys' senior straightens his back, as if finally coming out of his stupor. He lifts his hands and claps them twice and two pairs of slaves come forward carrying large chests between them. When they are opened, bars of gold gleam from within.

My eyes drift away from the Wise Master for the first time, even as he finally finds his words.

"The Wise Masters of Yunkai have sent a gift, for the silver Queen."

Before Daenerys can respond, I shift. It's not enough to dislodge her, but my mother's hands do come down on my scales, clutching at me a bit at the sudden jarring motion. I take no notice of this, I've already extended my winged forearm, careful to keep said wing from extending, even as I close my massive claws over the chest closest to me and drag it closer still. A rumble leaves my throat as I bring the gold to a rest against my furnace of a chest.

Every human in the tent and beyond has frozen up at my movement. When a predator stalks, you make yourself small and visible after all. All eyes except for my mother's are on me and I rake my amber gaze across the lot of them before snorting a small cloud of black smoke from my nostrils, as if to say how unimportant to me they all are. Eventually, I settle my attention back on the Wise Master, even as Daenerys speaks again.

"It would appear Drogon appreciates your gift."

Razdal's nostrils are flaring now as he struggles to control himself. The man is a hairbreadth away from panicking and while I'm curious to see what will happen if he does, I do not push him. Instead, I allow him to calm himself, even as he speaks in a stilted, hurried tone.

"There is more… much more, awaiting you on your ship."

Daenerys lifts a brow in response, her voice filling with amusement.

"My ship?"

"Yes, khaleesi. The Yunkai are a forgiving, and generous people. You shall have as many ships as you require."

A moment of silence as Daenerys considers this. Originally, I had thought to intercede here. I believe, given the influence I had over my mother at this point, that if I'd interjected mentally, she very well might have caved to the offer, and traveled across the Narrow Sea to Westeros far earlier than expected.

Just… I didn't think I truly wanted to leave quite yet. No, rather, I wanted to get a bit larger first, and the slavers in Yunkai and perhaps Meereen as well, offered up some nice, fatty treats in that regard. If I could get nice and big in time for my Westeros debut, I'd be happy. Right now, I was almost fully grown… but almost is not the same as actually being there. Just a bit more.

And so, Daenerys continues on unimpeded.

"And what would you ask in return?"

Razdal licks his lips, clearly still nervous, but not quite freaking out behind that cracking mask of his so much.

"All we ask, is that you use these ships. Sail them back to Westeros where you belong and leave us to conduct our affairs in peace."

Daenerys looks to the slaves and I can feel her compassion. It's almost sickeningly sweet, how much my mother cares for the downtrodden, the chained and collared. She begins to speak about her 'gift' to Razdal and I tune her out. I know how the rest of this song and dance goes. Daenerys will tell him that she's gifting him his life, he'll grow offended, and yada, yada, yada.

The only divergence from that point on is the fact that the slaver doesn't even bother to try and take back the chests of gold, neither the one against my chest, nor the one closer to my siblings. I've struck fear into his heart no doubt. In the end though, he is gone with promises of retribution and war and I simply rumble in contentment as my mother reaches back and scratches beneath my chin, even as she speaks with her knights about Yunkai's "powerful friends".

Soon… very soon.

-x-X-x-

When Daenerys meets with the Captains of the Second Sons, I am there as well, unlike in canon. My Daenerys uses me like a massive hammer, bludgeoning her foes into submission. I'm perfectly happy to let her. From what I recall in canon, the leaders of the Second Sons acted like lecherous buffoons. With my eyes upon them and my tail swishing back and forth to the side of them, my massive body covered in black scales resting beneath my mother's ass, they were not quite so carefree.

The three men stood there, unable to take their eyes off of me. Except for Daario, who only has eyes for my mother, the romantic fool.

When the Braavosi Mero finally speaks, he is not nearly half as confident as I remember him being from the show. And he focuses on me as well, rather than propositioning Daenerys.

"… The reports are outdated then. The Yunkai spoke nothing of a fully-grown dragon."

I snort derisively, even as Daenerys adopts a rather lazy smile, her hand coming up and brushing across my scales.

"They wouldn't. Drogon is not fully-grown."

That gets an exclamation from the Ghiscari Captain, Prendahl na Ghezn.

"They get bigger?!"

It is clear that whatever the Second Sons had intended here today, they've been fully derailed. Daenerys is smiling like a wolf now… or perhaps like a dragon, given just how much I've been toothily grinning of late.

"Enough about Drogon. After all, if we can come to an accord, I can promise that you will not be on the receiving end of his hunger."

No. Enough of this. I will not have her make promises I will not keep and from what I can sense of Mero and Prendahl's fear, they are ready to submit to me, when they would not submit to eight thousand Unsullied in canon. But I also know of their treachery and while Daario's desire to fuck my mother might make my hackles rise, at the very least he does not wish to rape her.

I rise and Daenerys rises with me, though not by choice. Jorah catches her before she can fall on her face, but I'm already slinking forward. There is shouting and the leaders of the Second Sons draw their weapons, Daario included. I am already upon them however. Daario Naharis receives a flick in his chest that sends him flying back, while Mero and Prendahl experience the full weight of my fiery breath, dragon fire spraying out of my maw and roasting them alive in seconds.

"DROGON!"

Luckily, the Unsullied standing guard are smart enough to detain Daario but not kill him. The last of the Second Sons remains on his back with blades at his throat as I approach him. Our eyes meet, and I send my desires, my designs into his grey matter. He shudders in understanding, and my lips curl back, even as I proceed to turn my back on him and walk back to my two newest meals.

Daenerys is at my side, hands on my scales. She pushes her confusion and worry and even her anger onto me, but I rebuff it with the emotions and sensations that I picked up from the two men. My mother rears back in surprise, her nose wrinkling in disgust and her brow furrowing in concern. I send more of my feelings, perhaps more than is wise if I wish to continue to appear unintelligent. But that ship has more than likely sailed by this point. After all, I am fucking my own mother on the nightly. Daenerys no longer sees me as a simple beast. She doesn't even truly see me as her child.

As I bend my head and begin to feast on the charred corpses I've made, Daenerys turns away from me and towards the captured Daario.

"Drogon tells me that your Captains were treacherous. But he says you do not share their taint. Whether this is true or not, he has spared your life, so I will not take it. You have a choice to make now, Daario Naharis. You may leave here with your life and do what you will with it, or you may pledge loyalty to me and bring the Second Sons to my service as proof of your new fealty."

I side eye the downed sellsword for a moment, just long enough to see Daario's big, shit-eating grin. Then I promptly ignore him and everyone else, even as he agrees to serve. I've got a nice big meal in front of me. Would be a shame to let it go cold.

-x-X-x-

From there, things proceed as they did in canon… at least at first. Daario has a back way into the city and he along with Jorah, Grey Worm, and a small group of Unsullied, manage to sneak in and open the front-gates for the larger host. Unsullied and Second Sons both ransack Yunkai and the 'great and ancient' city falls within hours.

But I do not let Daenerys stop at simply freeing Yunkai's slaves. No, I won't allow her to be soft with slavers like she was in canon. This is the culmination of my work with my darling mother, as the sense of urgency I've imparted upon her mixes with the bloodlust I am pumping into her mind. In the end, Yunkai is sacked totally and utterly and just like with Astapor, everyone with a whip in hand is put to the sword, as those with collars and chains are freed.

As for the Wise Masters? I can't help but grin slightly, my rows of sharp teeth showing as I prowl around the group of huddled, terrified slavers. We are within Yunkai's Temple of the Graces. It is nice and large and I have chosen it to be my new temporary home, even as I pushed Daenerys to gather all the gold and precious stones in the city to bring to me. The Graces themselves, Yunkai's priestesses, have been kicked out.

It is just me and the Wise Masters, with Unsullied at the doors to make sure none escape. The Unsullied do not fear me, but then they have no reason to. They are loyal to my mother and my mother is loyal to me… else she would not give me this gift so readily.

Finally, I come to a stop. I have drunk of their fear long enough and at this point, a few of them actually smell, which was not something I truly wanted. Rearing back on my back legs, I spread my wings wide and open my maw. My chest begins to glow with the fire held within it and the eyes of my victims widen in horror and terror at what they know is coming. When the dragon fire builds in my throat, they break and turn to run, but it is far too late.

My flames reach across the entirety of the large room, only stopping just a dozen feet short of the Unsullied at the entrance to the temple. They feel the heat, but not enough to burn them. The Wise Masters of Yunkai are not so lucky. They burn and they burn well, until soon enough, nothing but charred flesh on brittle bones remains.

I stalk among the corpses, looking for the choicest meat to begin my meal with. I find it in the middle of the pack, seared to perfection but not as burnt to a cinder as some of the outliers. Snapping up the slaver body, I get a satisfying crunch as I bite into the abdomen and the body simply snaps in half. I'm not quite at the point where I can swallow a human whole yet, but I am getting there. Soon.

As I eat, I ponder and the faint sound of chanting reaches my ears, even through the thick walls of the Temple.

"Mhysa! Mhysa! Mhysa!"

Daenerys has made friends with the freed slaves of Yunkai. How nice. She will have to settle for that, because after I am finished with my meal, I will be pushing for us to skip Meereen. It's going to be time soon, especially once I finish all of these delicious slavers and grow bigger still. Meereen is worthless in my mind. Westeros is where I will find… what?

I pause for a second, to contemplate what it is I seek in Westeros. Conquest of more familiar lands? It's pretty clear that Westeros is the more defined area over Essos. Of course, my arrival will derail everything… still, it would be fun, to eat someone like Tywin and defile someone like Cersei. Mm, yes, there were certainly quite a few beautiful maidens and not-quite-maidens on the western continent for me to add to my collection.

Ever since Yunkai's representative had left that gold, I'd been feeling an urge to hoard. Not just valuable minerals and precious stones, but women as well. Missandei and Daenerys were certainly pleasurable enough… but I found myself wanting a collection of maidens to keep locked away in my lair… even though I did not actually have a true lair. Not yet anyways.

But when I did make my lair, finally, I wished for it to be in Westeros. Essos would never be a permanent home, not with Daenerys dead set on eventually retaking the Iron Throne. So what was the point then, in growing anymore attached to this place? No, Yunkai had the ships and the shipyards… we would go back to Westeros within the month. It was decided.

The only question was, where exactly would I attempt to guide my beautiful mother to land?

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: So yeah, tonight's discussion topic, since I seem to be doing these a lot, is where you guys think Daenerys should land her fleet.**

 **For frame of reference, Daenerys would be arriving in Westeros at the very start of Season 4 of the TV Show. For further frame of reference, the Red Wedding has just happened and Oberyn Martell is arriving in King's Landing.**

 **I'm leaning towards landing in Dorne for obvious reasons, but I'm interested to hear what you all think as well.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And here we are.**

 **-x-X-x-**

Kinvara was in the midst of staring into the flames when she first felt the pull. As such, it was perfectly understandable that the beautiful High Priestess would assume it was her Lord speaking to her at first. Of course, as Volantis' highest ranking Red Priestess, Kinvara could not just sneak off. She was the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light and whatever other titles they wanted to saddle her with besides.

In the end, it is Kinvara and a group of her followers that ascend the mountain paths and leave the safety of the city behind. It is her and her fellow worshippers that turn a corner and come face to face with a living, breathing dragon. Even Kinvara is shocked speechless, but those who follow her react far, far more strongly. Two out of the group of ten remain at her side as the others immediately turn in flee before the sharp teeth, long claws, and whipping tail of the great fire beast.

The two who stay with her move to pull their swords from their sheathes, but Kinvara recovers swiftly enough to stop them… and prevent their deaths.

"Hold. Stay your blades my friends. You should no more take up arms against a dragon than you would against the Lord of Light himself. Dragons are HIS creatures, through and through."

Despite feeling an inner trepidation that she does not allow to show outwardly, Kinvara steps forward, a slight smile painted across her face as the dragon watches her with a startling amount of intelligence in its amber eyes. And then a blast of raw emotion hits her and Kinvara gasps as it washes over her mind and her soul. Behind her, the last two who had stayed, fall to their knees as they too feel it. She is the only one left standing as the dragon finally moves, slinking forward and encircling her in its mass.

For a brief moment, she is alone with the creature, trapped and helpless. Then the dragon finishes circling her and the line-of-sight between the High Priestess and her protectors, as worthless as they are, is clear once more. She looks to them and presses her pouty lips together for a moment. Kinvara can only presume that the Lord of Light speaks to her through one of her creatures in this. After a moment of consideration, she bows her head in acceptance and receives a burst of satisfaction in return.

Turning away from the dragon, Kinvara spreads her arms wide, even as her remaining followers finally recover enough to look up at her.

"Fear not, for the Lord of Light has shown me the way! I go now to serve his Champion! Do not worry for me, for we go to fight the Great Other! GO! Spread word of th-eep!"

And that's about the moment the dragon decides it's let her say enough, because a large set of claws encircles her waist and she suddenly finds herself lifted off the ground as it beats its mighty wings and lifts into the air. The flight is short but exhilarating and Kinvara cannot help but laugh almost giddily as they fly high above the clouds, away from Volantis and out to sea.

The High Priestess of Volantis' Red Temple does contemplate the idea of the dragon simply dropping her in the ocean for a moment, but she discards this fear as irrational. No, if this isn't a message from her Lord, the great fire beast is more likely to roast her alive, and consume her flesh, rather than just discard her out in the ocean. She has no need to fear a death by drowning.

This is confirmed moments later when a fleet of Yunkish ships appears on the horizon. One in particular seems particularly over-sized compared to the rest. It is this one that her dragon angles towards, and when it drops her, Kinvara is as prepared as she can be, tumbling to a stop on her knees even as it does another fly around to slow its own speed.

As the dragon is doing so, Kinvara is looking around closely. She is surrounded by Unsullied, but not JUST Unsullied. There is a pair of old, Westerosi Knights who have taken notice of her, and as she rises from her knees, they approach with confusion and concern on their faces. Behind them comes a dark-skinned slave girl, though she no longer wears a collar… and behind her comes the reason that Kinvara is no doubt here.

Now fully understanding her place in the world (geographically speaking) Kinvara's smile is strong and confident as the knights place their hands on their hilts.

"You! Who are you? Why are you here?"

That is the moment her dragon returns, and though it is a tight fit and the creature has to be quite gentle as it does so, he lands behind her and roars triumphantly, enough to almost knock the knights flat on her asses. Kinvara weathers the roar, despite being at its epicenter, and her smile widens as silence falls, only for her to fill it.

"Perhaps you should ask him."

It is quite obvious who 'him' is. Of course, then the white haired Valyrian girl is past both the former slave and the knights, and then Kinvara as well as she rushes to the dragon's side and in the process, names it.

"Drogon! Where have you been this past day? I've been worried sick."

Kinvara turns to look upon the beautiful girl. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. After hearing reports of her in Astapor and Yunkai, Kinvara had begun to wonder if the girl was the One Who Was Promised. The freeing of slaves and the birthing of dragons… well, Kinvara's presence now aboard this ship was even further proof, wasn't it? Ah, but Daenerys is looking at her now questioningly, and Kinvara smiles, bowing low before the girl.

"Greetings, Daenerys Stormborn, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, and perhaps most importantly of all… Mother of Dragons."

The girl puffs up a bit more every time Kinvara gets one of her titles right. By the time she's done, Daenerys has a slight smile on her face and her back is straight as she regards the High Priestess.

"And you are?"

Kinvara grins and bows again before answering.

"I am but a humble servant of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. I believe you, as an outsider to my religion, would label me as a Red Priestess. My name, should you wish to use it, is Kinvara."

It feels SO good to shed all of those oppressive titles and the extravagance and bullshit that goes along with them. Kinvara has a genuine smile on her face as Daenerys regards her NOT as a High Priestess, but as a simple follower of her Lord. Behind the Targaryen Queen, her dragon, Drogon as Kinvara now knows he's called, snorts a bit and the High Priestess can't help but wonder if he knows more than she thinks.

There's such intelligence in the magnificent creature's eyes, it befuddles her a bit. Dragons have always been of the same affinity as the Lord of Light, but as far as she knows from the lore, they are but beasts of magic, nothing more, nothing less. Of course, magic can go a long way, can't it…

"Well, Kinvara. It's a pleasure to meet you, I suppose. I apologize, but it seems Drogon has decided you are to join us on our journey."

Pulled from her thoughts, Kinvara can't help but smile, her eyes lighting up as she shakes her head at the Queen.

"No! No apologies necessary… your dragon… the Lord of Light works through him, as he does all beings. You are Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen… and this only confirms what I had already begun to suspect. Where ever you go my Queen, my place is at your side."

Daenerys blinks dumbly at that.

"What do you mean?"

Kinvara's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug as she grins, almost giddy with excitement.

"I confess, I do not have all the answers right now. I will need to consult my Lord in the fires. But I believe you are the One Who Was Promised. You will lead the people against the darkness in the great war still to come. Until that time arrives, I will stay at your side for as long as you will have me, your grace. My counsel will be yours, for as long as you are willing to listen."

Bowing her head once more for good measure, Kinvara glances back up to see Daenerys nodding, a considering look in her eyes and a smile on her face. It's Drogon's gaze that pulls her attention though, as the large dragon's amber eyes seem to pierce through her very soul. There is something mysterious about the large, black-scaled beast. One way or another, Kinvara intends to find out what it is.

-x-X-x-

Doran Martell sits in his wheeled, wooden chair, overlooking the Water Gardens as a few of Oberyn's younger daughters play with Myrcella Baratheon. The aged man, confined to the chair by a debilitating case of gout, can only hope that Oberyn's eldest daughters are not off getting into trouble. Still, he must concede that it's better the older Sand Snakes be nowhere near their hostage-guest.

With Oberyn and Ellaria off on King's Landing, Doran fears there is no one left in Dorne who can truthfully tame Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene. So long as they cause no problems, he won't need to find out anyways. Letting out an explosive sigh, Doran lets his eyes drift shut. It is a beautiful day to day, though he sits in the shade while the girls play out in the sun. Not a cloud in the sky… it was days like today that their sister Elia liked most of all.

Oberyn wants revenge for their sister's death. Doran knows this and though he has tried to temper his brother's rage, that is hard to do when he can barely control his own simmering anger sometimes. And so Oberyn has gone to the capital of Westeros, ostensibly for Joffrey Baratheon's wedding. The truth is clear though, Doran is no fool. Oberyn will try to find a way to avenge their sister. He can only hope he does not lose his only remaining sibling in the process.

A cry of alarm abruptly tears Doran from his thoughts. His eyes snap open and he looks out at the water gardens. As the girls point upwards, eyes wide in shock and mouths agape. People are running back and forth, but Doran has no idea what is happening. Then, a massive shadow covers the ground and Doran's eyes go wide as well, as the owner of said shadow lands in the midst of Sunspear without any warning.

The black-scaled dragon is large, and though he is no Balerion the Dread, for a creature that has been extinct over a hundred years, he's certainly big enough to cause Doran's heart to stutter and stop and then beat rapidly in his chest. Captain Areo Hotah, the leader of his guards, is suddenly behind him, clasping the handles that will allow the man to wheel him away.

"My Prince! I must get you to safety!"

Doran's eyes widen as he realizes that the girls are still down there, three of them, including the Baratheon girl, trapped between the dragon and a large rock. Even though there's nothing he can do, the chair-bound Prince of Dorne finds himself lunging forward half out of his wheeled chair as the dragon lungs as well, right at them.

"NO!"

And then the beast is gone, beating its massive wings and flying up into the air. Doran's eyes bulge out of his skull as he expects to see blood splatters and torn apart bodies. Instead, Oberyn's youngest two bastard daughters are hunched against the rock, seemingly unharmed. As they realize the dragon has left, they uncurl and look around in shock at their good fortune.

For a brief moment, Doran is so relieved that he forgets about the third, blonde girl who should be with them. Only for a moment though, and then his heart stops as his voice fills with dread.

"Myrcella… where is Myrcella? WHERE IS MYRCELLA BARATHEON?!"

The loud shriek of a young girl fills the air from high above, all eyes turning skywards… and Doran can't help but shed a tear as he has his answer.

-x-X-x-

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen is… perplexed. She stares down at the young blonde that Drogon has brought back from his foray this time. Rather than just a day, Drogon has been gone for three, and now she knows why.

"Your name… tell me your name again?"

Sobbing quietly, the young woman rubs at her eyes and answers in a small, scared voice.

"M-Myrcella Baratheon…"

Baratheon… Baratheon. Daenerys reins in her anger towards that name and turns towards Drogon. The large black dragon doesn't even have the good grace to look ashamed or admonished as he lounges alongside both of them, one eye open and watching the pair interact.

"I confess the Red Priestess has been a boon to our voyage so far Drogon, but I cannot help but wonder just what the hell you picked up this one for!"

A sensation fills her mind as Drogon communicates his desires to her.

"M-Maiden?! C-Collection?! What in Seven Hells is that supposed to mean?!"

The next thing Daenerys feels is soothing calm and despite a momentary struggle, she allows the sensation to wash over her, her anger and confusion fading away in the face of his overwhelming confidence. Letting out a low sigh, Daenerys' eyes are almost lulled shut when she hears a giggle from behind her. Turning, she finds Myrcella Baratheon's tears drying up, and the young blonde looking to her dragon with a hesitant smile on her face.

"H-He's not so scary... when he's like that."

It's obvious that the soothing calm was sent to both her and the Baratheon girl. Daenerys presses her lips together tightly, but before she can speak, Myrcella looks to her with such earnest hope.

"I-I know not who you are Milady, but did my mother send you? I… I know that I was in truth a hostage in Dorne, and not just their guest… Is that why you sent your dragon to fetch me?"

She knows not who Daenerys is?! Is the girl slow or ignorant? Well, even if her looks have not given her away, Daenerys is quite sure her name well. Staring imperiously down at the kneeling girl, Daenerys speaks clearly and concisely.

"Your mother did not send me Myrcella Baratheon, and I am no mere lady. My name is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. I am the rightful owner of the throne your father usurped from mine many years ago. I have returned to reclaim my throne and my kingdoms. You are in the presence of the Queen of the Andals and the First Men, and the Mother of Dragons."

As Daenerys speaks, Myrcella's eyes grow wider and wider. By the time she's done with her little monologue, all the blonde can do is say one thing.

"Oh."

And then she topples backward in a dead faint. Daenerys stares for a second at the daughter of the man she's hated all her life… and then she blushes as Drogon chuffles behind her, sending his amusement through both the air to her ears and through the connection to her mind. Gritting her teeth, Daenerys decides she'll let Drogon have his 'maiden' for now. Stupid dragon, dragging half-grown girls out of Dorne to join their voyage.

What did he need Myrcella Baratheon for anyways? He had her after all, d-didn't he?

-x-X-x-

Stannis Baratheon, true heir to the Iron Throne, grinds his teeth together as he looks out from the wall of Dragonstone at the fleet of Yunkish ships below. The cry of a dragon fills his ears and the man glares up at the three creatures that fly above the fleet. They are out of range of Dragonstone's ballista, but he has every single one manned anyways, waiting for the opportune time.

Will that time ever come though? The Targaryen bitch has a fleet, and ten thousand men. Stannis had once commanded far more than that number as well as a bigger and far better equipped fleet than hers. But now, after the Battle of the Blackwater, he is left with nothing but Queen's men and this castle, his last remaining stronghold. He is secure here against the Lannisters and the Tyrells, but not against bloody fucking dragons. Nor their bitch of a mother, with her army of eunuchs. To be brought low by such a thing.

"Your grace…"

Melisandre appears at his side, as she always does when he is busy falling into despair. His face stony as her hand on his arm sooths him for reasons he cannot adequately explain, Stannis looks to his Red Priestess.

"What does your Lord of Light say now in the fires? What am I to do in the face of this."

The Red Priestess looks troubled, unsure for a moment, and Stannis is honestly surprised. Even when he was busy losing the Battle of the Blackwater, even when he'd holed himself up in the Stone Drum to brood, she'd been by his side, confident and assured of herself as ever. Despite his failure, Melisandre said he was still Azor Ahai. That he was still the Prince Who Was Promised. It was all Stannis had had to latch onto after his monumental, humiliating defeat.

And now, she had no more answers for him? Stannis is about ready to lose it on the red-haired woman, when Melisandre finally opens her mouth and speaks.

"Your grace, I may have been inc-."

A dragon's roar cuts off whatever the Red Priestess was going to say. Stannis whips his head back around, just in time to see the largest of the three dragons, the black one, swooping in towards the castle. Even as Melisandre falls back, the would-be King draws his sword, Lightbringer unlit, and lifts it high.

"DRAGON! READY THE BALLISTA! FIRE AT WILL!"

His words reach all along the walls of Dragonstone's fortress as those men that remain to him follow out his orders. Far fewer than should be though and as Stannis looks out across the walls, he finds, to his horror that many of the ballista crews are refusing to fire at all, loyal men dead or dying from knives to the backs beside the massive siege weapons.

It is in that moment, as a few of massive steel-headed bolts launch at the dragon, that Stannis remembers something he was told long ago by the Maester, when he first took up residence in Dragonstone.

The seed of dragons runs strong on this island.

Stannis had taken those words to heart at the time. He'd removed the obvious Targaryen sympathizers from his new seat, one way or the other. But now, with the loss of good, honorable men that he'd incurred at the Battle of the Blackwater, Stannis had been forced to conscript able bodied smallfolk from the harbor town below in order to man his ballista.

Just one more mistake in a long line of them at this point. Even still, even with this betrayal, at least ten massive bolts fly through the air towards their target as the dragon closes in on the wall. Stannis watches raptly as five miss outright, while five get dangerously close to hitting. And yet, somehow the dragon sees them coming. Moving with almost human intelligence, the massive creature rolls to avoid every single massive bolt flung his way.

Only then does Stannis realize where the dragon is going. The dour man's eyes widen even further, and he lifts his sword at the last second, as the black beast gets bigger and bigger, it's amber eyes homing in on him. The last thing the would-be king sees before death is the dragon's maw opening wide, and a fire building in the back of its throat.

-x-X-x-

I quite literally burn Stannis Baratheon alive AS I pull him into my maw and down my gullet. He sears nicely, and he tastes even nicer. Hm, the deliciousness of a man of little excess I suppose. As I swallow the charred corpse whole, I swing my long, armored tail this way and that, and begin to wreak havoc on the armored men attempting to attack me on the wall. There are still a few bowmen to worry about, but the ballista lining Dragonstone are not designed to fire inwardly. As such, now that I am within the fortress itself, I am 'safe' from the massive siege engines.

Admittedly, I'd been leery to approach at first. Dragonstone was brimming with defenses, even ones that could harm a dragon, I was surprised to find. I suppose I shouldn't have been, but from a distance, I could see the men with their scorpions lining the castle walls on every tier. I wasn't going to get close to that shit, not when they could fill the air with fifty massive bolts that might injure or kill me.

Instead, I'd settled for flying over my mother's fleet alongside my brothers, even as she and her advisors discussed their options on her flagship down below. Eventually though, I'd gotten bored and when I get bored, my mind wanders. There was something calling to me on Dragonstone, but at first, I'd thought it something silly, like the volcano or the dragonglass I knew was buried beneath the island.

It took me far longer than I cared to admit to realize that I was being called to by actual living, breathing people. The minds of Dragonstone's smallfolk reached out to me as I expanded my awareness, and I realized belatedly just how much Targaryen, and then Valyrian blood ran through the island's inhabitants. The Targaryens had practiced the act of First Right after all, and they'd done so frequently… and those on Dragonstone had praised them for it, treating the dragonseed that came from such unions almost reverently.

It had been almost child's play to use the blood of dragons in the smallfolk manning Stannis' ballista. They'd already been in awe of the sight of me and my brothers, and they'd already secretly longed for the return of a Targaryen Queen. I'd simply given them a small nudge in the right direction, and the next thing I knew, most of the ballista crews were stabbing their fellow men in the back.

That was when I'd attacked, and though I'd still had a few bolts to contend with, I'd seen the more dangerous ones coming and avoided them easily. Now with Stannis dead and me rampaging through the castle, resistance would crumble. The battle was over, and my mother had won back her family's seat without wasting a single of her precious soldiers.

I deserved a treat for a job so well done. A nice, big meal of Stannis' last loyal men would certainly do. The ones foolish enough to attack me deserved to die for their idiocy anyways. Not to mention, the plate armor some wore allowed my dragon fire to cook his knights so evenly throughout, leaving me to merely peel back the useless, melting armor to get at the tasted seared morsels within.

Mm, life was good.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: So next chapter will have more interlude scenes like this one. I'm thinking I'll definitely include a reaction from the Lannisters. Word of what happened to Myrcella will no doubt reach them by the time the 'Battle' of Dragonstone takes place... but I'm wondering how they should react. Will they actually believe Dorne when it says a fucking dragon swooped down out of the sky and stole Myrcella from their midst, or does Oberyn need to beat a hasty retreat?**

 **Also, Oberyn's reaction... what should that be?**

 **And of course, beyond the Lannisters, who else should I show? I'm thinking a small scene from Daenerys' point of view is in order, to show her immediately following the end of this chapter, and then we'll get into the "Reactions from Westeros" bit. Let me know what you guys think, this story is only doing so well thanks to your feedback and the discussions you guys hold with me. =)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Here we are with a late night chapter! Enjoy~**

 **-x-X-x-**

As she settles into the seat and stares out at the throne room of her ancestors, Daenerys knows she has no right to be mad. While this is not the Iron Throne and nor is it King's Landing, the city that Aegon the Conqueror built, it is still Dragonstone. House Targaryen's Ancestral Seat is hers… and yet, Daenerys is a bit disappointed.

Drogon slinks along in the background and she can feel the amusement of her most belligerent child. Though at this point, they are far more than simply mother and son, aren't they? Daenerys shudders as she feels a warmth between her legs, and the arousal only builds further when Drogon, sensing her moment of weakness, strikes with mental desires of her own.

Tossing him a sharp glance and as sharp a mental rebuke as she can manage, Daenerys is admittedly relieved when Drogon does not push things. She's not so sure she could have put up much more resistance before succumbing to her desire to wrap her naked body around his cock… and in front of all of these people, that would be unseemly.

Focusing on said people, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms stares in silence at the three women brought before her. These three were all that was left of Dragonstone's leadership, supposedly. A Red Priestess, a widowed lady, and an orphaned girl. Drogon had been very… thorough in wiping out the knights under Stannis' command, and as far as she could tell from his satisfied feelings, he'd started with Stannis Baratheon himself.

Good. Daenerys would not suffer a Baratheon to live… except for Myrcella… and perhaps this young, marred girl that Stannis had beget. Pressing her lips together, Daenerys amends her inner thought. She would not suffer a MALE Baratheon to live. Yes, that sounded much better. The Usurper's line needed to be snuffed out, but women and girls were no threat to her.

Drogon sends a burst of approval her way, and then a burst of desire for the marred girl. Daenerys can't help herself, her head whips around and she stares at Drogon with wide violet eyes. The Dragon swiftly amends his 'statement'. His desire for the marred girl is not to mate with her (as Daenerys assumes he's doing with pretty much every other woman he's collected) but because the remnants of the girl's greyscale make her look part draconic in appearance.

… Her dragon is an odd one. But Daenerys has probably left everyone waiting long enough, even if it is her right as Queen to do so.

"My ladies… please stand and approach."

The two women and the girl rise from their knees to their feet and shuffle forward together. Daenerys regards each of them in silence. The Red Priestess looks completely lost, despite appearing older in age than Kinvara. Daenerys is surprised by this. Kinvara has never appeared as anything but confident, and given she's the only example until now that the Targaryen woman has had with the Red God's servants, she'd expected similar from this Melisandre. Instead, the crimson haired woman seems utterly confused.

Meanwhile, Selyse Florent, Stannis Baratheon's widow, appears to be quite cross. She's glaring at Daenerys as if the silver-haired woman is a monster. Still, Daenerys can understand where the anger is coming from. She can only hope that they can get past that. She has no wish to kill the widow.

And then finally, there's little Shireen. The only child of Stannis Baratheon appears to be an equal mixture of afraid and curious. There is a wariness to her eyes that belies her age, but she can't seem to stop glancing to Drogon, studying every bit of him, not like a girl worried that she's about to get eaten, but like one wondering what it would be like to pet his scales and ride on his back.

Daenerys can't help but smile at that honest curiosity. It only solidifies her desire not to kill Shireen Baratheon.

The prisoners stop a dozen paces from Daenerys' dais. Focusing her violet eyes on Selyse Florent, Daenerys purses her lips.

"Lady Florent. I have taken Dragonstone. Your husband is dead. I do not require a formal surrender, but it would be appropriate for you to give one now."

Selyse stiffens visibly and her jaw clenches as she straightens to her full, not-at-all considerable height.

"No."

That gets a blink from Daenerys and surprised murmurings from those in the hall. Hell, even Selyse's daughter is looking at her in confusion.

"No?"

Stannis' widow shakes her head back and forth.

"No. My husband is not dead. You cannot have killed him, he is the Lord of Light's chosen, his Azor Ahai. My Stannis is the Prince Who Was Promised, the one who pulled Lightbringer from the flames! I-If you think he is dead, then he has merely retreated temporarily, to regroup and return stronger than ever! I will not surrender this keep, because you have not truly taken it, not yet!"

The woman is beside herself and Daenerys is incredulous. Looking to the Red Priestess, this Melisandre, Daenerys finds guilt on the other woman's face. Glancing to her own Red Priestess, the Targaryen woman finds only pity in Kinvara's eyes and the slight downturn of her lips. A sigh leaves Daenerys and she focuses her attention on Melisandre.

"Red Priestess."

Melisandre startles and Selyse falls silent as she looks to the woman who has filled her head with such lies. Stiffening as everyone looks to her, Melisandre composes herself swiftly enough and then bows her head.

"Your Grace."

Selyse lets out a horrified gasp at the minor acknowledgement of Daenerys' title.

"I have it on good authority from MY Red Priestess that I am the One Who Was Promised. I am told that my dragons, as well as my freeing of the slaves in Astapor and Yunkai, has played a hand in the prophecy. I am told that I will be needed in the Great War to come. Pray tell, which of you is telling the truth and to whom? Was Stannis truly the world's savior, or is it I? Because I confess, we are all in deep trouble if the charred corpse digesting in my Drogon's stomach truly is the one who will save us all."

Melisandre has grown paler and paler, the longer that Daenerys speaks. When the young Queen finishes, her eyes dart over to Kinvara's smug smile and she licks her lips, wetting them slightly.

"I would… I would not presume to High Priestess of Volantis, she who is the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, and the First Servant of the Lord of Light. It would seem… I have erred."

There are several reactions to Melisandre's words. Daenerys is shocked, as Kinvara had introduced herself as nothing but a simple Red Priestess. Certainly nothing special, certainly not someone with four titles. The Targaryen woman couldn't help but look at her advisor in a new light, and not an entirely positive one at that.

Meanwhile, Kinvara herself stiffens slightly, though the smile on her face does not dim, it merely becomes slightly fake as she stares at Melisandre's seemingly contrite form. The other woman has admitted failure, while at the same time pinpointing and striking at the only weakpoint in the relationship between Kinvara and the Queen. This one is not to be underestimated.

And then of course, there is Selyse Florent.

"W-What?"

The hall is silent, and the widow's single broken word is heard by all as she stares in horror at Melisandre. The Red Priestess turns to her, apologetic and contrite in every fiber of her being.

"I am truly sorry my Lady. But I have misinterpreted the Lord of Light's messages in the flames. Stannis Baratheon was not Azor Ahai reborn. He was but a stepping stone for the one that sits before us now."

"How can you… how can you say that? You told him… you told me that he was the rightful King. That he would sit upon the Iron Throne and unite the S-Seven Kingdoms!"

Melisandre has no defense to that. Instead, she bows her head and repeats herself.

"I have erred. My Lady, if you are truly a follower of the Lord of Light, you must submit to the Dragon Queen and surrender the castle. We all must submit to her rule. Her dragons are gifts from Him and her coming is the coming foretold in prophecy."

Daenerys straightens up a bit, surprisingly feeling just a bit proud as Melisandre speaks. Truly, the woman has a silver-tongue. In this case however, it does not seem to do much good with Selyse Florent.

"FUCK THE LORD OF LIGHT!"

Just like that, Stannis' widow pulls a knife from the folds of her dress, seemingly out of nowhere. Everyone in the room begins to move as Selyse lungs across the small amount of space between her and Melisandre, but nobody is close enough to stop what happens next. In the span of a second, but what feels like an eternity, it's all over.

The Red Priestess dodges Selyse' initial stab, grabs the other woman's wrist, and turns the dagger onto her in one single, flowing move. A moment later and Selyse Florent has a dagger in her neck, put there seemingly by her own hand as Melisandre catches her and carefully falls to the floor with the dying woman in her arms.

"I am sorry Selyse… truly I am."

The Red Priestess certainly sounds mournful… but in this instance, Selyse Florent isn't her only victim. A childish scream of horror splits the air and all eyes turn towards Shireen Baratheon, as if just remembering the young girl is in the room. There is a splatter of her mother's blood across her face, as it apparently sprayed her when Melisandre stabbed the dagger deep into Selyse's neck.

Daenerys is just as horrified now, mostly on the girl's behalf. She rises from her throne, but Drogon is already moving faster than anyone else. The very tip of his large snout presses against Shireen Baratheon's forehead and the young girl's eyes immediately flutter shut as she passes out right then and there, falling limply into his outstretched claws. Guarding her almost jealously to his breast, Drogon slinks back to Daenerys and her throne, and curls up in the empty space beside her. The young girl sleeps soundly in the coils of his tail.

Shuddering, Daenerys finds herself settling back down into her chair as Melisandre lowers the now dead Lady Florent the rest of the way to the ground and stands, moving to a place front and center before her. The crimson haired Red Priestess bows her head in supplication.

"Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I have made many mistakes in recent times. Greatest of which was going to the Lord of Dragonstone, rather than Dragonstone's true heir and rightful ruler. I see now where I went wrong, where I misread the Lord of Light's messages in the flames. I would pledge my loyalty to you, for you truly are Azor Ahai Reborn. Do with me as you wish."

If Daenerys is being honest with herself, what she wishes is for Drogon to do as he will and consume this woman. Unfortunately, her largest child does not seem very inclined in that direction in this case, so she cannot simply pawn off Melisandre's fate to him. Her nostrils flaring as she inhales sharply, Daenerys glances to Kinvara and comes up with an idea.

"High Priestess."

Kinvara startles at having her true title pass from the Targaryen woman's lips, but she presents herself nonetheless, bowing lowly.

"My Queen."

"This one is one of yours. I would have your counsel on what to do with her. Is she a rogue, to be put down for her crimes?"

Daenerys almost hopes that Kinvara will take the easy option, say yes, and allow her to in turn take the easy option as well. Unfortunately, she suspects otherwise, and is not surprised when Kinvara hesitates and takes a moment to collect her words, before ultimately counseling mercy.

"… Everything is the will of the Lord. However, men and women can make mistakes. It is possible that Melisandre is meant to do more at your side before she passes on from this mortal coil. And a true Queen knows when to temper her wroth. I… would counsel mercy."

Big fucking surprise. Daenerys almost snorts at her own thought, before shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.

"So be it. She is yours to do with as you please High Priestess. Her actions from here on out, will reflect upon you."

Kinvara's lips press tightly together, but she bows nonetheless and walks from Daenerys side to Melisandre. A moment later and the two Red Priestesses are walking out together, red dresses trailing behind them. Daenerys watches the women go and wonders once again how worthwhile having them around even is. Of course, it'd been Drogon's decision to bring Kinvara to her. She didn't believe for a second that this Lord of Light influenced her ornery son. No, Drogon wanted the Red Priestess. And so she would stay.

Leaning back in her throne, Daenerys lets out a sigh as the next item on her exceedingly large agenda is brought before her. It's going to be a long day.

-x-X-x-

"A-Ah, yes, right there Oberyn… yes… Yes… YES!"

Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne, grins a little wicked grin even as his tongue weaves a tapestry of pleasure back and forth across his lover's cunt. Ellaria Sand is naked and bathed in sweat by this point, her beautiful body undulating and writhing beneath him, her fingers tightly gripping at his dark, curly, untamed hair.

He has been pleasuring her orally for over an hour now. Not as any sort of foreplay, though it is likely that they will fuck at some point tonight. No, Oberyn simply enjoys bringing a woman to the heights of ecstasy, and Ellaria, with a place so near and dear to his heart, is the most fun of all to play with. This is her fifth climax beneath his tongue and he intends to double that before he's done, proving one of the lesser known reasons he's called the Red Viper.

Unfortunately, intentions do not always equal results. There is the sudden sound of a throat clearing and the mood is broken as Oberyn disengages immediately, his hand drawing a knife from beneath the bed as he whirls around, ready to throw it into the neck of the offending party. Unfortunately, he is forced to stop by a familiar face connected to said neck.

"I do apologize for the interruption your Grace. But I felt that this news was important enough you would want to hear it, no matter the cost to your enjoyment of the beautiful Lady Sand."

Ellaria stiffens behind him, her own dagger in hand, but Oberyn knows Lord Varys well enough to know the eunuch is not actually insulting his paramour. His nostrils flaring as he contains his anger, Oberyn points the tip of his blade in Varys' direction.

"Speak quickly Spider."

Varys bows, his hands still concealed before him as he does exactly that.

"The Queen is about to receive a letter that will have her seeing… red. She will want your head, but her father will force her to agree to a trial. Unfortunately, this will give her leave to arrest you and kill off your lover in order to exact at least some form of petty revenge for what she is about to learn. In the end, you are both in danger."

Oberyn furrows his brow in confusion.

"This letter. What does it say?"

Varys' shoulders rise and fall.

"It is a letter from Dorne. Not from your brother of course, but from one of the Lannister spies embedded in Sunspear. It will say that Myrcella Baratheon is dead, possibly by your brother's hand. At the same time, a missive from your brother will arrive tomorrow, confessing Myrcella's disappearance. The details will seem ridiculous. After all, the Princess was snatched up from the middle of the Water Gardens by a full-grown dragon, and carried off to parts unknown."

For the first time in a long time, Oberyn Martell's faculties fail him. He is not an unintelligent man. He has traveled the world, even studying with the Maesters themselves, as well as learned scholars in the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea. And yet, what Varys has just told him… it makes no sense.

"Why would my brother say such things? What is the truth of this Spider?"

Again, Varys' shoulders rise and fall as he looks at Oberyn with a pitying expression.

"I am surprised that you are not as informed as I thought, Prince Oberyn. The truth is exactly as I have laid it out for you. Myrcella Baratheon WAS taken by a dragon. Daenerys Targaryen's largest dragon, in fact. A particular little bird of mine has confirmed she still lives, at the Mother of Dragon's side."

Oberyn's eyes bulge out of his skull. Of course he knows about Daenerys and he'd even heard rumors of dragonlings in Qarth. His voice is faint however as he asks the question on the forefront of his mind.

"… Daenerys Targaryen as a full-grown dragon?"

Varys' smile is apologetic.

"Not quite. By all accounts, Drogon is impressive and growing more so by the day… but I suspect he will not reach the size that the history books consider "full-grown" until after Daenerys takes Dragonstone and he feasts on the last of Stannis' men there."

At this point, Oberyn is just staring at the eunuch. The Spider speaks insanity so calmly that Oberyn fears for his own. Before he can do more than open his mouth to offer a rejoinder however, a scream of heartbreak and rage so loud that it reaches their room through the open window nearby emanates from the Red Keep and all three of the room's occupants look towards the direction the sound came in.

"… I imagine that would be the Queen. Her father is with her, so when the goldcloaks come, it will be to arrest you, rather than to kill you. They will not be so kind to your paramour."

Varys looks past Oberyn, offering Ellaria an apologetic look, as if he'd just told her that they were out of wine, rather than that her death was eminent. The naked woman stiffens, her eyes flashing with anger. It is clear that she does not fear what is coming, nor will she go down without a fight.

And yet, Oberyn is weak in this area. He would prefer not to risk the love of his life.

"Why have you come here Spider? Why do you offer this information freely? Why do you stay even now, as you say goldcloaks approach?"

Varys smiles, though he does not show his teeth.

"I have a few minutes more before I must depart. Before then, I hoped to make you an offer Prince Oberyn. Simply put, I would be happy to see Lady Sand safely out of the city for you. My little birds are ever so resourceful, and she would not be caught or killed if you placed her in my hands, I can assure you of that."

Oberyn lifts a brow questioningly, before glancing back to Ellaria and speaking curtly.

"Get dressed my love."

To her credit, Ellaria does not question him as she hops out of bed and throws on a loose, flowing garment. While she dresses, Oberyn turns back to a waiting Varys, the eunuch not even glancing at his naked, beautiful mistress. But then of course he wouldn't, it is not the pleasures of flesh that drives a man with no cock or balls.

"What is the price Lord Varys? Speak plainly as time is short. If I do not like what you have to say, I and Ellaria will take our chances at each other's sides, rather than split apart on your whim."

Varys bows his head and when words fall from his lips again, they are as blunt as Oberyn has asked for.

"I intend to send Lady Sand to Dragonstone, to meet with Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men. I intend for her to act as Dorne's liaison, so that your family and the Mother of Dragons might form an alliance that will see Daenerys put back where she belongs, on the Iron Throne."

And finally, it all clicks. Oberyn feels idiotic for not seeing it before, but then… no one did, somehow.

"You… you're a Targaryen Loyalist."

Varys smiles sardonically and inclines his head yet again.

"And so are you, now that the Lannisters control the throne and revenge for your sister has come to Westeros along with three dragons."

Oberyn stiffens… and then grins, because Varys is right. He turns to Ellaria, who now stands at his side, and kisses her heatedly and deeply for but a brief moment. Then he tears himself away and pushes her towards the Spider.

"Go, the both of you. We have wasted enough time with revelations. Ellaria… treat with the Dragon Queen. If she cannot accept a bastard as an ambassador, I would not counsel my brother to ally with her anyways."

Ellaria nods, and Varys turns and then they're both gone, out a side door. Oberyn lets out a low breath and slowly sinks to his knees in the middle of the room. His eyes close and his hands rest palm down atop his legs as he does something he has not done in some time. The Red Viper meditates and contemplates and plans. He does this until the goldcloaks come for him. When they arrive, he offers up no resistance and it is as Varys says. He is taken into custody and spends the night in a Black Cell.

And when morning comes… well, Oberyn supposes it will be time to begin.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: I think I'm about to fix-it fic Oberyn Martell without any interference from the SI. Wasn't really planning on it originally, but yeah...**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Chapter is a bit short tonight. To be perfectly honest, this and the last chapter should have been one whole chapter, but that would have been absurdly long and I like to post what I write each night. So here you go.**

 **-x-X-x-**

It's a sleepless night in those damn dark cells beneath the keep. Oberyn half-expects them to send an assassin to kill him before the sun can rise… when they do not, he is left disappointed, tired, and perhaps a little irritable when the goldcloaks finally arrive to drag him from the Black Cell and up to the castle above. He is carted into the throne room and tossed before the Iron Throne, upon which King Joffrey Baratheon, First of his Name, sits looking more bored than the Prince would expect for someone who has just lost their sister.

Cersei Lannister on the other hand, now she looks as murderous and angry as Oberyn expects. Slowly, the Prince of Dorne tries to rise to his feet, only for a kick to the back of his legs to send him back to his knees. Flaring his nostrils, Oberyn keeps from whirling on the goldcloak behind him. Even with his hands tied behind his back, the Red Viper knows he could kill the man. It's the dozen after that would be a struggle, restrained as he currently is.

Putting on his best smile, Oberyn Martell cocks his head to the side and focuses on the King, rather than his mother.

"Your Grace, I must confess some confusion. I was pulled from my quarters last night and tossed in a cell without explanation. May I inquire as to what is going on?"

Joffrey continues to look bored, while Cersei leans forward in her seat and speaks for him, hissing out in a tone so venomous that Oberyn wonders just which one of them is the viper in this moment.

"You know what you and your kind did you monster. Did you not think we wouldn't notice your consort fleeing the city with the Master of Whispers?"

Varys had left with Ellaria? Strange, that wasn't the impression Oberyn had gotten from the man. Letting some of his very real surprise leak onto his face, Oberyn adopts a look of polite confusion.

"Truly? I had feared the worst for her if I am being honest. I had not seen her since we parted ways after supper last night. Her doings were her own, I assure you."

"Mother tells me that your brother killed my sister. I am duty bound to have justice for Myrcella's death."

The King finally speaks, and Oberyn can't help but be incredulous at just how apathetic Joffrey sounds about the possibility of his sister's demise. Is this truly the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms? He'd heard rumors that had turned even his stomach, and he'd certainly held no love for a brat that was more than likely Lannister all the way through. But the fact that he did not even seem to care… it lit a very personal fury in Oberyn's chest, even as he responds to the King's words as politely as he can still manage.

"I would not be so quick to jump to conclusions your grace. My brother is no killer. More than that, he is a cripple, confined to a wheeled chair. He has no reason to harm your sister. Perhaps your mother is merely misinformed. Myrcella Baratheon is well-loved in Dorne, a kind, beautiful girl. There is no one in Sunspear who would want to do her harm, least of all my brother."

Cersei comes up out of her throne and her shrieking fills the hall.

"Your brother killed my beloved daughter and has the nerve to declare it the work of a fully grown dragon, and you dare to claim he is innocent of wrong-doing! You are just as guilty as he is, and I would see you die screaming for his crimes against my family! You are to be executed, here and now! What do you have to say to that?!"

Judging from the way the King is now leaning forward in his chair, excitement on his face, Oberyn doesn't doubt that Cersei can and will have him killed here and now. And then he notices Tywin Lannister rushing into the throne room from one of the back halls behind the Iron Throne. The old man has the Hand's insignia pinned to his front and judging by his face, he is not at all happy to be arriving late to this.

"Hold!"

Every eye in the hall turns towards Tywin, and in that moment Oberyn can see the old lion's intentions. He's going to deny Cersei her gruesome execution and he's going to keep Oberyn alive for this or that reason. If Varys was telling the truth, news of Stannis Baratheon's death at the fangs of a full grown dragon on Dragonstone will reach King's Landing soon enough, and then Doran's claims will have more weight. Oberyn could very well be let free at such a point.

And yet, something about owing Tywin Lannister his life displeases Oberyn greatly. No, more than that it enrages him. He would not have the man who ordered the deaths of his sister and her children save his life. He'd rather die screaming a thousand times over. But Oberyn has little faith that Cersei or Joffrey will overrule the old lion.

Which leaves only one option left to him. Jumping to his feet and side stepping the resulting kick to the back of his legs, Oberyn ends up a couple feet forward and his sudden movement draws all eyes back to HIM as he grins jovially and speaks clearly into the silent hall, preempting Tywin entirely.

"If I am to die for a crime I did not commit, I demand Trial by Combat! May my guilt or innocence be judged before the Seven!"

The sight of her father had transformed Cersei's vicious snarl into a look of dismay as she too realized what Tywin was about to do. Now though, her dismay shifts to malicious glee and she leaps at the chance Oberyn has offered her, grinning almost ferally as she straightens up.

"The King accepts your demand Prince Oberyn Martell. You will be given a day to prepare and the Trial by Combat will happen tomorrow at first light."

And that's that. Oberyn is dragged off, not back to the Black Cells but to a more comfortable room within the Red Keep. The Dornish Prince can't help but grin as well, especially when he sees the furious look on Tywin's face as the old lion, frozen by Oberyn's sudden words, stalks towards his triumphant-looking daughter.

Oberyn is given food and wine, which he happily shares with the servants who bring it to him. He is allowed to specify his weapon of choice from the spears he's brought with him, but he is not allowed to touch them before the time comes for him to fight. This is most unfortunate, as he believes he knows who he will be fighting, and he'd hoped to coat his spear n manticore venom to make things especially painful.

Alas, he will have to make do without. In the end, the day goes by, Oberyn gets his sleep, knowing that this time, there most definitely will not be assassins. Even Cersei wants him to live long enough to die in his upcoming Trial now. When the next day comes, he is awake and ready for it.

Within the hour, Prince Oberyn Martell is walking out into the arena, dressed in light armor, spear in hand. Eight feet long, it's shaft smooth, thick and heavy, Oberyn felt right at home with the weapon in his grasp. Even as his challenger approached, his desire for blood only grew, as did the smile on his face.

Gregor Clegane, the Mountain Who Rides. The Queen has unknowingly given Oberyn exactly what he came to this stinking, festering pit of a city for. The chance to kill his sister's murderer lays in his grasp now, and he will not let it pass him by. There is no one at his side as he stands beneath his pavilion, sipping from a goblet of wine. Ser Gregor moves to his own pavilion and Grand Maester Pycelle moves to stand between them, speaking to the crowd.

"In the sight of god and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this man, Oberyn Martell. May the Mother grant him Mercy. May the Father give them such Justice as they deserve. And may the Warrior guide the hand-…"

A trumpet blasts and cuts Pycelle off and the old man falls silent, bowing slightly and departing from the ring. The Mountain pulls his sword from its sheathe, wielding the massive blade with one hand and stalking forward. Oberyn stalks forward as well, not bothering with showmanship or pandering to the crowd. He might very well have done so if Ellaria was here to watch him. He could scarcely resist showing off to her.

But no, there were no allies for the Dornish Prince here. Only enemies upon enemies. With Gregor Clegane having every physical advantage but speed and distance, those are the two traits Oberyn depends on most as he circles the massive knight.

"Have they told you who I am?"

"Some dead man!"

With a snarl on his lips, Clegane brings down the blade towards Oberyn's head, but Oberyn easily dodges out of the way. Still, while there is a rage to the Mountain's blows, it is well-contained. This is a creature who has long since been molded into a weapon of death, pain, and misery. His own lips curling back, Oberyn feints in and out, testing the massive man's defenses and dodging his attempts to strike at the fleet-footed Dornish Prince. All the while, he continues to speak.

"My name is Oberyn Martell, Prince of Dorne. You killed my sister, Princess Elia Martell. Do you remember?"

The Mountain snarls as he throws out another blow.

"Who?"

Though Oberyn knows it should not, that single word gets under his skin. Still, much like the Mountain, Oberyn's rage is well-contained. He is not the Red Viper for nothing. In and out he darts, dodging blow after blow, knowing each would have torn him asunder all on their own had but one landed. None do however, and slowly but surely, the Dornish Prince finds the chinks in Gregor Clegane's armor.

Strikes with his spear begin to slice at the massive knight as he continues to dance around the Mountain of flesh and steel attempting to kill him.

"Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children!"

Oberyn's strikes become faster and faster as he speaks. He keeps up the chant, as if it gives him strength. In a way it does. It feels as if Elia herself stands at his shoulder, gentle, frail hand pressed against his covered flesh.

"You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!"

Each successful strike angers Gregor more and more. But there is no distraction for Oberyn at this point. He is not playing to a crowd, he is doing this for his sister and himself and no one else. His words are for him and the monster before him alone.

"You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children!"

The Mountain That Rides break, after a fashion. Even when he breaks however, it is only more rage, not despair or sorrow. With a roar of unbridled hatred and fury, the armored knight begins to lumber about the field, giving up all pretense of defense in order to attempt to chase Oberyn down and stick him like a pig.

"Shut up! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!"

"YOU RAPED HER! YOU MURDERED HER! YOU KILLED HER CHILDREN!"

Even with Gregor baring down on him, even with his lungs filled with his chants, Oberyn stays a step ahead of the massive man and his spear tip finds purchase again and again against the Mountain's flesh. Finally though, he finds himself set up for a killing blow without even realizing it. The Mountain That Rides charges at him directly, roaring like a beast driven mad rather than a man.

Oberyn sets his feet and then spins, building up momentum until finally, his eight-foot spear lances out, sliding right through the massive opening in Gregor's defenses. The two feet of metal at the end of his weapon pierce right through the Mountain's throat as Gregor Clegane impales himself. Of course, this does not stop the mass of flesh and steel's momentum. Oberyn is forced to release his weapon, lest it be torn from his grasp. He is forced to leap to the side, lest he be crushed beneath the Mountain That Ride's falling weight.

In the end, Gregor Clegane keeps going, the butt of Oberyn's spear hitting the ground and sliding back. More and more of the thick wooden shaft slides up through the hole in Gregor's neck, until finally the massive man falls forward onto his face, right in front of the dais where the King sits with his mother and his grandfather. Oberyn's spear stands up straight, the last foot of it still embedded in the prone knight's neck, and the rest of it coated in Gregor's life blood.

The Mountain That Rides is dead. And all Oberyn can feel is disappointment. And yet, Elia's spectral hand remains on his shoulder. He stays silent as he stares at the dead body of her killer, and his spirit feels a bit lighter. It's as if he can sense his sister's satisfaction with this justice. Even still, even if Elia would be satisfied with just this… Oberyn is not. He will not be satisfied until Tywin Lannister himself lies dead at his feet for his crimes.

Staring up at the dais, the Dornish Prince's eyes meet with the old lion's. They stare at each other for a long moment, before finally, Tywin stands up and steps forward, speaking as Hand of the King.

"It would appear Prince Oberyn has proved himself innocent before the eyes of the Seven. Despite his brother's alleged crime against the Royal Family, the Prince himself is absolved of all guilt in the eyes of gods and men."

Tywin does not sound happy to be saying the words, though to be fair, Oberyn doesn't think he's seen Tywin happy saying anything since he arrived in this city. Of course, where the old lion is merely unhappy, Cersei Lannister looks absolutely murderous. Oberyn directs a slight smile her way. He truly hopes she will try to have him killed in the days to come. The Red Viper welcomes the challenge, though given King's Landing's ilk, he doesn't expect much of one.

"Prince Martell. Your retinue will be released, and you and your party will be given a ship and enough provisions to take you where you want to go."

That gets Oberyn's attention back on Tywin Lannister. The Dornish Prince's smile is quite wicked as he lifts his brow.

"Oh? You assume I would want to leave, rather than clear my brother's good name? No, Prince Doran sent me to King's Landing for a reason Lord Hand. I shall remain as my brother's emissary. I highly anticipate the joining of the King and Lady Tyrell. As far as these rumors of Princess-killing are concerned, I am confident that the truth will win out. My brother is not a murderer of children."

That brings Cersei out of her seat, eyes wild with impotent rage.

"You would side with his absurd claim that a full-grown dragon swooped down into the middle of Sunspear solely to snatch up my Myrcella in its claws?!"

Oberyn does not want to give too much away, especially in front of so many witnesses. Instead, he settles for a truth, if not the whole truth.

"If that is what my brother says happened, I would believe him, yes. And if there is a fully grown dragon swooping about Westeros stealing maidens… well, we have much more to worry about, than being at each other's throats, wouldn't you agree your grace?"

Given Cersei's inarticulate scream and her subsequent storming out of the area, Oberyn rather thinks she doesn't. How unfortunate. Smile still on his face, Oberyn walks forward and pulls his blood-coated spear from the back of the dead Mountain's neck. The puddle of blood beneath Gregor Clegane is still struggling to grow big enough to encompass his full body as Oberyn lifts his weapon in a salute to the King and his grandfather, bowing low and then leaving the arena as well.

He was telling the truth to the old lion. He intends to stay in King's Landing, at least until the wedding… or until news from Dragonstone arrives, whichever comes first really. He wouldn't miss these coming events for all the world, and with Ellaria hopefully safe enough in the Spider's care (and if Varys tried anything, Oberyn had full confidence in his paramour's ability to kill the eunuch) there was nothing that Oberyn truly feared in this rotted, festering pit of a city.

Let the Queen send her assassins. He'd be happy to thin out the number of snakes lying in wait in King's Landing.

After all, vipers were notoriously territorial.

-x-X-x-

Two weeks and three attempts on his life later, Oberyn got prime viewing of Cersei's reaction, when the letter came in regarding the news from Dragonstone. Stannis Baratheon dead by dragon, and tales of the black scaled monstrosity big enough to swallow a man whole, decimating the fortress' defenses in the name of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

For this alone, this beautiful moment where Oberyn got to watch from the sidelines as the Lannisters and the Tyrells had to face the facts that dragons had once again come to Westeros… well, Oberyn was ready to pledge his loyalty to the Dragon Queen then and there.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: So yeah, that's concluded. We'll get back to SI!Drogon and his bitches next chapter. I'm thinking it might be full on lewds tbh, given just how many ladies we have that need to be dragon-dicked.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This story literally almost died on me. I went four days without writing for it. That's pretty much a death sentence for my hobby writing :V**

 **-x-X-x-**

Myrcella Baratheon's life had changed quite a lot over the last several weeks… and yet she couldn't quite find herself to be overly upset about matters. A low rumbling sounded beneath her and the blonde's lips curl into a smile as she leans back and nuzzles her cheek against the black scales behind her. She's perched atop Drogon's tail as he lays there curled up inside of his new accommodations.

The large dragon had gone so far to knock out a few walls in order to make himself an appropriate lair high up in the top of Dragonstone's majestic keep. Privately, Myrcella imagined that he wanted to be able to look down upon all of his subjects. By this point, the young woman knew who the real power behind the throne was. She'd spent some nights alongside the Dragon Queen after all, worshipping the mighty beast's cock.

Though beast probably wasn't the right word for him, as Drogon reached out and brushed her mind with his own. Myrcella lets out a shuddering breath as her pussy lips grow wet almost immediately. When Drogon offers up the thin tip of his tail, the scantily clad girl is happy to grab hold of it and guide it between her creamy thighs, spreading her pale legs wide in order to push his tail up inside of her.

She's certainly not dressed like a highborn woman anymore, but then Myrcella isn't too concerned by that sort of thing at this point. She's Drogon's, through and through. The dragon's massive presence encompasses her mind as Myrcella humps her hips into his tail tip and she lets out a happy, contented sigh. He's caressing her thoughts, molesting her very soul. The blonde can't help but climax in short order, an ugly cry tearing free of her lips as she coats his tail tip in her pussy juices.

Her body is dressed up in silks from Lys. The outfit is incredibly revealing, and from what Myrcella knows, its because the garments were made for a slave girl. She doesn't mind the insinuation though. It's been so nice letting go. So nice just relaxing and absolving herself of responsibility. Becoming a dragon's plaything has been so much more fun than trying to navigate the politics of Weste-

"THIS is Myrcella Baratheon?"

Myrcella's eyes snap open as the words tear through her inner peace.

"Indeed. As you can see, Drogon is nothing like any of the histories describe dragons. I begin to wonder if he is R'hllor himself, reborn."

"… Blasphemy…"

The young blonde glares daggers at the two Red Priestesses as they approach. She knows the one quite well by this point, and her hackles rise in the presence of her rival. The other one is a potential rival, and she spares no courtesy to her either… though most of her attention is focused on the threat she knows well.

"Kinvara. What do you want?"

Drogon's admonishment is swift and Myrcella backs down almost immediately, her posturing ending as she moans wantonly and curls back into her master's massive body. In response, the Red Priestess simply grins and continues forward, aiming for her true prize even as Myrcella watches on in abject jealousy.

"You know why I'm here girl. My colleague needs to learn the truth of Drogon. Come Melisandre. The Queen put you under my control, did she not? And you did pledge yourself… consider it an order if you must, but you will kneel beside me."

Melisandre looked over than Kinvara, yet the red head still obeyed. And just like that, the two Red Priestesses were kneeling side by side as they stared at Drogon's massive, thick cock. To say Myrcella was unhappy about all her hard work going to waste would be an understatement. She'd spent the last hour arousing Drogon so that she could have her own fun with his huge draconic member. And now that was being taken from her… if it were not for her master's presence running over her mind in a soothing, calming manner, Myrcella might very well have thrown a fit.

"… It is massive. I hope you do not… penetrate yourself with this thing."

Kinvara laughs at her fellow Red Priestess' words, reaching forward and taking Drogon's huge length in her small hands. Myrcella scoffs at this Melisandre's ignorance. Meanwhile, Drogon sends out amusement to all three of them, causing both Kinvara and Myrcella to smile as Melisandre is rocked by the sheer strength of his will.

"Dear R'hllor, I can feel him…"

"Indeed. Now, you will help me with this, no matter how little you want it. Use your tongue and your hands… and when he cums, you will drink as much as you can."

Myrcella finds the look that Melisandre gives her peer at those words a bit amusing, but in the end, the red head obeys all the same and as the two Red Priestesses begin to worship Drogon, Myrcella Baratheon begins to touch herself to the sight, moaning quietly.

"That's right you harlots… lick his cock. Lick his cock and he will reward you, you filthy sluts."

Melisandre is taken aback by Myrcella's crass words, but Kinvara simply guides her attention back to the issue at hand.

"Ignore her. She is imagining herself in our place and it makes her cross that we are doing this, rather than her."

"… I would gladly pass off the responsibility to the girl High Priestess."

"Then you are a fool."

Myrcella just grins, her fingers caressing her sopping wet pussy lips as she enjoys the exchange between the two priestesses. Kinvara is quite enthusiastic in her work, while Melisandre is noticeably lackluster. The former's hands and tongue are all over Drogon's length, while the latter is grimacing as if this is some foul task she is being forced to complete, rather than a glorious reward to be cherished.

It almost makes her want to kill the red woman right then and there. But Drogon continues to wash peace and calm over Myrcella's mind and the blonde shudders, her eyelashes fluttering as her eyes themselves roll back in her head. She climaxes along her fingers from the feel of her master filling the empty places in her mind with his essence.

Even if Kinvara and Melisandre are getting to worship his cock physically, it's almost like Drogon is fucking HER mentally. Myrcella loves this. She loves being one with her master, her GOD. Shuddering yet again, the blonde knows that there's a lewd, ecstatic look upon her face as she slides three digits into her cunt and begins to fuck herself right atop Drogon's body. She just doesn't care what the Red Priestesses think of her.

They have their own issues regardless. Drogon is growing more and more aroused and as this happens, he pushes his desire and pleasure outwards, hitting all three women with his emotions and his mental presence.

Melisandre's breath hitches even as Kinvara moans happily.

"I… he is so strong… so massive…"

Kinvara gives her peer a knowing look, fully aware that Melisandre is not talking about Drogon's physical size.

"Now you see why I suspect what I do. If Daenerys Stormborn is the one who was promised, if the Dragon Queen is Azor Ahai… is it not possibly that the Lord of Light has chosen to send himself or an avatar in order to assist her?"

Melisandre's eyes are wide as she strokes Drogon's cock right alongside the High Priestess of Volantis. Her mouth is agape as she tries and fails to compartmentalize the pleasure the massive black-scaled dragon is forcing on her. In the end, the Shadowbinder is becoming just as aroused, and the act of pleasuring the massive fire beast becomes an act of pleasuring herself as well, causing her enthusiasm in the task to increase right alongside Kinvara's.

"He… he is Lightbringer!"

That gets an odd look from Kinvara, even as she too does her best to pleasure the pillar of dragon cock before the both of them. Even Drogon is a bit distracted by the sudden words, a bit of confusion and curiosity leaking into the feedback loop of arousal that he's created.

"… The sword?"

Melisandre can only shake her head as she looks upon Drogon himself with more wonder than before, though her hands never stop moving and her thighs are now grinding together as her core continues to heat up, hotter and hotter.

"The histories call Lightbringer a blade, but all the prophecy says is that Azor Ahai would pull Lightbringer from the fire! Even I am not as misinformed to not have heard the rumors. The Dragon Queen birthed her dragons from the flames of her husband's funeral pyre! She walked free of the ash with them in her arms! Drogon is no normal dragon! He is blessed by the Lord of Light, not R'hllor's avatar, but the weapon that will push back the darkness all the same!"

Kinvara seems considering of this, but the small monologue's effect is slightly diminished by the resulting eruption from Drogon's member a moment later. White, hot dragon seed rains down on both Red Priestesses, and if Myrcella were in any state to notice at this point, the blonde girl would no doubt be mewling in disappointment and crawling towards his cock to get her share. But she's no longer truly conscious.

As such, only Kinvara and Melisandre get coated in the stuff, and while Kinvara immediately begins to consume Drogon's seed, Melisandre hesitates for a moment… and then the desire overwhelms her and she takes a taste. Her eyes widen as she looks to her peer.

"… The power…"

Kinvara glances over to her and grins wickedly.

"Now you see. Perhaps Drogon is the Lightbringer to Daenerys' Azor Ahai. But his seed… his seed is the power we need to serve in the great war that is to come. Go on my friend, consume your fill. We will need our strength for whatever our Queen asks of us next."

Both Red Priestesses lick and lap up Drogon's seed with an almost feverish intensity at that point. They're each completely enthralled by the seed, even as Drogon wraps their minds in his presence, amusement and contentment coloring his projected emotions. Eventually, there's nothing left for them to consume, and both women lean back, completely disheveled, their faces messy as they look at each other. Melisandre blushes deeply, while Kinvara just grins.

The High Priestess of Volantis rises to her feet and her peer rises as well, looking distinctly put out by just how much she's degraded herself since they arrived.

"You will get used to looking like a whore. After all, we will be partaking at least once a day for as long as Drogon allows it. Come along Melisandre. There is much to be done."

And like that, both Red Priestesses are gone, leaving Drogon alone with his slave girl pet. Myrcella moans happily in her sleep, curling up against her master's side.

-x-X-x-

I am a bad, bad dragon. After Kinvara and Melisandre's visit, I'd lounged around most of the day like a glutton. Food had been brought to me, and in great amounts as well. It seemed the people of Dragonstone knew how to feed dragons. I was quite thrilled to consume the mass of meat they brought me, once I'd properly cooked it with dragon fire.

Myrcella and I wiled away the day together, me playing with my fuck toy's mind and her enjoying being played with. The young woman was even more mentally twisted than my mother at this point. I hadn't exactly gone easy on her, though Myrcella had always been more fascinated than afraid of me. Much to her detriment in the end, as I was able to use and expand that fascination into lust, and that lust into outright devotion.

Getting her to wear the slave girl outfit, which reminded me somewhat of the slave bikini Leia wore from Star Wars, though with more silks and less metal, had been a particularly fun moment. When she'd felt how much it pleased me, she'd refused to talk the garments off, until they ended up far too messy for her to keep wearing. Thus began a cycle in which I'd have to strip her myself, give her outfit over to be washed, and dunk her naked in water in order to get her cleaned up.

Breaking Myrcella Baratheon's mind hadn't necessarily been my intention… but I wasn't truly that beat up about it, in the end. Rather, I enjoyed having a maiden for my hoard, even if the girl was no longer a true maiden. I was going to collect a hoard of women to go alongside my hoard of gold and jewels and it was going to be fucking GLORIOUS!

I'd probably keep it on Dragonstone. I liked the lair I'd made out of one of the castle's top floors. So did my women it seemed. Glancing down with one of my amber eyes, I grin toothily at the sight of my mother and her attendant stroking and licking at my cock. Myrcella is off to the side on a large pillow, completely knocked out and covered in her own pussy juices. The poor dear had a tendency for tiring herself out now.

Meanwhile, Daenerys and Missandei had shown up together about fifteen minutes ago, the lovely addicted darlings. My mother just couldn't sustain herself without a daily dose of dragon cum… and dragon dicking. Meanwhile, Missandei was just as needy at this point, and ever since Daenerys had caught her sneaking in to see me during the long voyage to Dragonstone, the two had taken to double-teaming me, especially as I grew larger and larger.

Daenerys finally pulls away and lets out a sigh.

"Alright… I think he's ready Missandei."

The dark-skinned former slave bites her lower lip and pulls back as well.

"A-Are you sure my Queen?"

The silver-haired beauty turns her violet eyes on Missandei and it's clear that she isn't even momentarily fooled.

"Yes, I'm certain. Or would you prefer to spend another fifteen minutes worshipping my dragon's cock you silly slut."

There's no real heat to Daenerys' words and even as Missandei ducks her head at the light reprimand to her true intentions, both women are smiling slightly. That's good, I like it when my bitches get along. With Daenerys' mind made up, the two rise and crawl up onto me. I watch lazily as Missandei helps her mistress literally scale my cock.

Soon enough, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen is literally straddling the head of my member, her legs spread wide as she does her best to impale herself on my massive length. And slowly but surely… she does just that. I watch on, as amused as ever at the sight. Daenerys' body is elastic around my member, her bones stretching to ridiculous lengths in order to keep from snapping.

Her pelvis should be almost immediately wrecked, her organs rupturing, her body breaking around my length… instead, she slowly begins to sink along my cock, the tip of my dick bulging out of her and stretching her in quite the obscene manner as she's impaled, inch by inch. Missandei helps where she can, but ultimately this is Daenerys' task.

And in the end, my mother manages it as she always does. Of course, I'm going to get even bigger still… but that's a road to cross when we come to it. For now, I simply enjoy the feeling of Daenerys' tight human body wrapped around my huge, ridged, draconic shaft. She's gasping and groaning and moaning while Missandei watches on with envy and lust, the dark-skinned woman's hands falling between her legs as she pleasures herself to the sight of her Queen being so thoroughly defiled.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Daenerys nods her head.

"O-Okay Drogon… I-I'm ready."

I send a wave of satisfaction into hers and Missandei's mind, and then I reach out with one of my massive claws, and casually wrap it around Daenerys' waist as the wing attached to said claw unfurls from my side. Honestly, it's things like this that make me wonder how my mother hasn't realized I'm even more intelligent than I let on. Or perhaps she has and she's simply at a point where she just doesn't care.

Regardless, I grip and I begin to pull my mother off of my cock, only to slam her back down immediately afterward. The cry from Daenerys lips is orgasmic as she clutches at my claw, and her head falls back from the sheer pleasure of being used as nothing more than a draconic cock sleeve. I fuck her hard and fast, more than eager at this point due to her and Missandei spending fifteen minutes riling me up as they lathered every inch of my ridged length with saliva.

Now it's Daenerys' pussy juices that are further slickening her insides and running down the length of my cock, making the movement of her stretched body even easier up and down my shaft. A low keening noise leaves my mother's lips, and it grows louder and louder as I fuck her harder and harder. The pleasure builds and the orgasms come and once they start, they just don't stop. I plow Daenerys Stormborn senseless, treating her like nothing more than a sheathe for my cock, rather than the Queen she is to all of her subjects.

Only Missandei knows just how far Daenerys' perversion goes. Kinvara suspects, but has no proof as my mother and the Red Priestess have never 'partaken' of me at the same time. In the end, it matters not. If the truth of Daenerys' night life with me came out and anyone tried to betray her over it, I'd simply roast them and eat them then and there.

Nothing matters in the end, nothing but me, my mother, and the women that worship my cock. Mm, well the servants that bring me my food when I'm feeling too lazy to hunt for myself are pretty okay in my book as well. I like them well enough. And of course, there are dragonseeds all across the island who practically worship the ground I walk on. I like being worshipped, be it by pretty women or the unwashed masses. Though… pretty women definitely beat out the unwashed masses.

Regardless, the point is that I'm content. Dragonstone will be an excellent lair, even once Daenerys takes King's Landing, no doubt with my help. At this point, I've basically fallen in love with the place. Just need to have all the gold transferred to the back of this room so I can start filling it up inch by inch, foot by foot. For now though, I'm enjoying my mother's tight pussy. Gold can wait until tomorrow.

With a satisfied growl as Daenerys' stretched walls finally milk my release from me, I unload inside of her womb, filling her to the point of bursting and then some. She's pushed up the length of my cock and then off of it, and I gently lay her in Missandei's waiting arms as the dark-skinned woman takes hold of her Queen until Daenerys can recover. And if Missandei sneaks a few scoops of my cum from the silver-haired beauty's gaping cunt before Daenerys is fully back among the realm of the sane and coherent… well, I'm not going to tell on her.

In the end, it's another half hour before Daenerys is able to properly speak again, rather than letting out incomprehensible gibberish. She and Missandei lay side by side atop my belly as I lounge and stroke my tail across their naked flesh appreciatively. Daenerys is tired, but not completely gone yet. She lets out a contented sigh and then turns those violet eyes of hers to look at me.

"… I cannot stay on Dragonstone fucking you forever Drogon. Eventually, I must make a move."

Missandei pipes up from behind her, running her hands over her Queen's pale flesh.

"Where will you attack first my Queen? The whole of Westeros is open to you with Drogon's strength at your beck and call."

Daenerys considers for a long moment before rolling her shoulders in a slight shrug.

"My instinct is to go to King's Landing immediately. Is there any reason not to? The Iron Throne is mine by right of blood, but I will gladly take it by right of conquest. I'm not sure though. My instinct was to go to Meereen after Yunkai, but instead Drogon's desires led me here, to Dragonstone and now I've retaken my family's ancestral seat. I am fulfilled, satisfied because of my child's direction."

The meaning to Daenerys' words is clear. She's asking me, in a roundabout way, for advice. Hm, perhaps she truly has decided I'm smarter than I let on. It's subtle, but I can tell what she wants. Still, what is the right answer here? My first thought is King's Landing as well. What point is there in waiting any longer to take the city and the Iron Throne? There is some concern regarding the women I'd like to keep alive, considering how ready Cersei was to commit a bit of murder/suicide back when Stannis first tried to take the city, but all in all, it was about time wasn't it.

Still, was I missing something? I would need to think carefully on how to use my influence over my mother. Daenerys was completely and utterly wrapped around my claw at this point. But I had changed canon, which meant anything I guided her to, could be my guiding her to her death if I was not wary.

… I had time. I'd give it a day or two. For now, I focused on the present, which meant the beautiful women lying naked atop me. My tail flicks back and forth across the slits of both Daenerys and Missandei, and I push my desire and arousal onto them even as I begin to molest them, both mentally and physically. The sluts both moan lewdly and wantonly and I play with them.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: So this is a call for help. What should happen next? Where should I even take this story? More short battles followed by lewds? Just kind of a fuck everyone fic?**

 **What were you still hoping to see before this story ended? Maybe I can work towards some of those things, if I find myself liking the ideas.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This is a thing.**

 **-x-X-x-**

My lair really was coming along nicely. Not only did I have my ever-present concubine/slave girl in the form of Myrcella, as well as my hoard of women coming in each day to pleasure me, I now had a right and proper hoard of treasure.

It filled the entire back of the massive room I'd claimed as my own. Not quite the top floor of Dragonstone, but near the top. I'd knocked out most of the walls and it would probably need to be rebuilt later on to make it more structurally sound, but for the moment I had a nice, big empty space… which was no longer quite so empty. The entire back of the 'lair' was now filled with mounds of gold, a big enough hoard for me to stretch out on.

All of the plunder from Astapor and Yunkai that I'd nudged my mother to bring along, plus every last bit of coin left in Dragonstone's vaults from Stannis' tenure as the island's lord. It was unfortunate that I hadn't been able to properly communicate before our departure from Qarth, or I would have had Daenerys ransack that city as well on her way out.

As it was, I had to settle for the riches of two Free Cities and an island instead. Such is life, woe is me. Regardless, my hoard was fairly nice. Not overly large yet, but then I probably wouldn't be satisfied until my entire lair was filled with precious metals and gemstones. I wanted it all. Almost as much as I wanted more sexy ladies for my living hoard.

Kinvara and Melisandre were quite literally religious about attending to me each day for their empowering meals. Daenerys and Missandei never missed a night. For all the times in between, I had Myrcella. But something was urging me on. Five… wasn't enough. And I wanted more than one 'permanent' maiden for my lair.

Gazing down upon Myrcella Baratheon with a large amber eye, I let a rumble of approval leave my chest, even as the scantily clad blonde worships my cock with her tongue and hands.

Hm, but who to go after next? I wasn't needed for any battles yet, that was sure. I hadn't prodded my mother along, and so Daenerys was faffing about just a tad. Heh, faffing about… I love that phrase. Anyways, yes… the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was currently content to sit on Dragonstone and take her time planning her next move. I didn't really blame her if I was being honest.

After all, the minor lords were crawling out of the woodworks in order to declare for her, either arriving at Dragonstone themselves, or sending emissaries in their place. Mm, which reminded me… Oberyn's paramour was here now. Ellaria Sand or something? I kind of wanted her, but for the moment I'd held off. It was probably foolish to hold off, wasn't it? She was a poisoner though, so no matter how beautiful she was, I couldn't help but be slightly leery. After all, if Dragonstone's Maester hadn't been dead already when I arrived, I would have eaten him outright rather than let him live.

I wasn't sure I was going to let any of the Maesters live… when the time came, it might be best to torch Oldtown. All that knowledge though… ehhh, I'd cross that bridge later. Was definitely going to kill any who got close to me though.

Huh, speak of the devil, there she is now. Ellaria Sand has entered my lair and is walking the length of the large chamber. I shift and Myrcella whines as she's dislodged from her place at my cock. I pay her no mind though as I lift myself up and give my new guest my full regard. Missandei and Varys are behind her, and it's clear that the dark-skinned young woman is escorting the two of them. I wonder what my mother is up to, that she doesn't deign this important enough to be here for.

But then, a eunuch and a mistress… they probably just aren't that big of a deal to a Queen.

"He is magnificent…"

The words fall from Ellaria's lips and I valiantly resist the urge to preen under her gaze. Instead, I slowly slink forward as Myrcella moves to a nearby pile of pillows atop a mound of silver and copper coins. Varys' eyes move to the scantily clad girl even as Ellaria is unable to tear her gaze from me.

"Ah, hello there princess. I confess, despite hearing the rumors I did not believe what I was told about your… circumstances."

Myrcella bites her lower lip, looking nervous. But then, I suppose the young woman has only ever known Varys as the Spider in her father's court. They definitely don't have any kind of bond.

"… I'm not a princess anymore. I have forsaken my family name. I belong to Drogon now."

Varys' lifts an eyebrow at that.

"I see."

Ellaria's response is not nearly as reserved. There is a tone of disgust in her voice as she eyes the former princess up and down.

"You belong to a beast, do you? You are much changed from the girl Oberyn and I left behind in Dorne."

Missandei interjects, or tries to anyways.

"Lady Ellaria, Drogon is far from a mere beast. He is-."

That's where I impose myself, cutting off the dark-skinned woman as she shudders and nearly falls to her knees right then and there. The wave of emotion I send out is both broad and at the same time concentrated. Missandei gets nothing but pleasure. Varys gets a dose of my pride and my suspicion and it sends the eunuch to his knees as he cries out in agony. Myrcella gets mostly pleasure, the same as Missandei.

And then there's Ellaria. The beautiful Dornish woman drops to her knees, the same as Varys, but there's no pain etched across her face. Instead, her eyes glaze over and her jaw drops open as her body spasms a bit from the orgasm that I force her to experience. My lips curl back and show rows of sharp teeth as I stalk forward and encircle the kneeling woman in my grasp. I'm barely cognizant of Missandei recovering and grabbing for Varys' arm.

"Come, we must leave."

"I… what about Lady Ellaria?"

"She has offended Drogon. Her fate is in his hands now, unless you wish to argue with a dragon."

It turns out, Varys does not. Instead, the bald eunuch retreats right alongside Missandei, though the dark-skinned woman rubs her thighs together as she hurries away, and I know she's desperate to get somewhere private and masturbate. Myrcella on the other hand, only comes closer, a wicked grin on her face as she makes her way past my coils and stalks up to Ellaria, the other woman still on her knees, mouth agape and eyes a bit glazed over.

To her credit, the Dornish woman does look up at Myrcella when the blonde stands over her and grins wickedly.

"I do not belong to a beast Lady Sand. I belong to Drogon. And now, so do you."

I snort lightly, a bit of black smoke leaving my nostrils as I position myself so that my massive, ridged cock is once more before both women. When Myrcella grabs Ellaria by the back of the head and pushes her face into the side of my schlong, I watch on in amusement as the dusky woman gets a whiff of my musk… and immediately begins to lick. To be fair, I'm still massaging her mind with my own, pressing my desire and my arousal onto her from all sides in a metaphorical sense.

Myrcella is a bit vicious in her efforts to push Ellaria onward, but I don't mind it. My pet concubine is simply offended on my behalf. I like that. And now I have Ellaria Sand to worship me as well. Mm, and she's much more skilled than any of the others were when they first began. The Dornish woman has stripped out of her skimpy dress in short order, and now she's outright rubbing her body all over my length. Her pussy in particular is sopping wet as she grinds her slit and clit against the side of my cock.

Seeing how enthusiastic Ellaria is, Myrcella belatedly seems to realize that she has a new rival for my affections. Her eyes wide, the blonde girl is quick to slide her body up and down the other side of my cock. Hm, my dick might be getting too big if I'm being honest. I wonder if I can do something about that. For now though, I'm just enjoying having two women, one dark like caramel and the other as pale as freshly driven snow, pleasuring my draconic member with all the enthusiasm they can muster.

Given Myrcella was working on my cock for about an hour before Ellaria, Varys, and Missandei arrived, it doesn't take long for me to reach my climax. Even still, I make sure to push my pleasure onto both women as I ascend to that peak, forcing each to climax repeatedly along the sides of my cock. Finally, I cum, a veritable fountain of dragon jizz spraying out and covering the two naked beauties.

Satisfied, at least for the moment, I lounge back and enjoy the resulting show as Myrcella and Ellaria fall upon each other like the horny, hungry bitches that they are. It's Ellaria's first taste of my cum, but judging by the enthusiasm and eagerness with which she's licking herself, my cock, and Myrcella clean, it won't be her last by far.

I grin wickedly, my rows of sharp teeth on display, though neither of my sluts are paying much attention to that. This was fun… and yet, 'acquiring' Ellaria Sand had not quenched my hunger. In fact, it'd only increased it. I wanted more than just her. For a second, I contemplate using the woman to lure in her daughters, at least the ones old enough to enjoy, who are back in Dorne.

… Maybe later. I can have her send a letter and Doran will probably send Oberyn's bastard girls up to Dragonstone without having any idea what awaits them. There's still the threat of poison, but then I got over that rather fast with Ellaria just now, didn't I? Ah well, I'd just deal with that shit as it became a problem. Wasn't going to let a little fear of poison stop me from collecting women for my hoard!

Hm… I kind of wanted to go steal a lady from King's Landing. I knew that my mother wasn't going to be attacking it any time soon, but that just meant I had time to do a few more snatch and grabs before we burned the city to the ground. What lovely morsels were even in King's Landing at this point to steal though? Three came to mind immediately, with a few more besides them.

Sansa Stark, Margery Tyrell, Cersei Lannister. The highborn trio. I was pretty sure they were the biggest targets for me to snatch up. There were probably others I wasn't thinking of at the moment, but those were the primary three. Just… which one to go after first, hm? That WAS the question…

-x-X-x-

Sansa Stark presses her lips tightly together as she sits beside her 'husband'. Tyrion Lannister is no happier to be here on this day than she is. In fact, he's probably even less happy, given the humiliations that Joffrey has heaped upon him on this, the King's wedding day.

At least… at least Margaery looks beautiful. Sansa knows better than to think that the Tyrells had her best interests at heart when they usurped her betrothal to Joffrey and placed Margaery at his side instead… but in the end, the red head can't help but be happy over the circumstances. Not so happy about being married to a dwarf, but so far Tyrion has been shockingly kind to her and he's taken no liberties. It's more than she can say of the King.

Keeping her body still to avoid shuddering, Sansa nonetheless sends a silent internal thank you to the Seven for sparing her Joffrey's no doubt sick depravations in the bedchamber. As an afterthought, she sends a silent prayer to the Seven on Margaery's behalf on the same issue.

The moment has become incredibly awkward, what with Joffrey pouring wine over Tyrion's head. Sansa isn't sure where this is going, but she knows it's nowhere good.

"Uncle! You can be my cupbearer! Seeing as you're too cowardly to fight."

Oh dear.

"Your grace does me a great honor."

"It's not meant as an honor."

Joffrey is a cruel boy. Sansa hates herself for not seeing it before. She can't imagine how everyone else at the wedding stays silent in the face of such vileness. But then, she'll never speak up… still, she has an excuse, doesn't she? She's a prisoner, always has been. Why does Tywin not take a stand as Joffrey drops his goblet before Tyrion can take hold of it? Why does the Queen allow her son's excesses to reach such monstrous heights in front of all the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms?

How the Lannisters ever expect to hold onto power with this insane boy on the throne, Sansa does not know. But then, she would rather they not hold onto power, in the end.

Ah, there Joffrey goes, kicking the goblet away as Tyrion reaches for it. Cruel, cruel boy...

"Bring me my goblet."

The words are said quietly, but Sansa is sure everyone at the wedding hears them. And as her dwarf husband kneels to crawl under the table and retrieve the kicked goblet… Sansa decides enough is enough. She will not say a word, she dare not say a word… but in the end, she need not say a word. The red head stands up, face set in stone, and moves to pick up the goblet from where it's rolled closer to her.

Her eyes meet with Tyrion's as he takes it from her hand. Then the dwarf is turning away to give it to the King.

"What good is an empty cup? Fill it."

Sansa can already imagine what will happen next. Joffrey clearly intends to up end the wine over Tyrion's head once more. And yet, her new husband does it all the same. And he holds out the cup of wine to Joffrey and Sansa is just waiting for what she knows is about to happen.

"Kneel."

Yep. There it is. Though why Joffrey needs a dwarf to kneel before he pours wine all over him…

"Kneel before your King."

Except… Tyrion isn't moving. He's staring at Joffrey like one would a bug, still holding out the cup of wine, but making no effort to follow Joffrey's order. The King seems to belatedly realize this and he grows incredulous and even angrier as he speaks.

"I said… KNEEL!"

This is where Tyrion has chosen to die it seems. Sansa would be quite fine with that if it didn't put her in an even more precarious position than she already is. Without a Lannister husband, even if it is the dwarf Lannister, she is no doubt soon to die, if she does not die right alongside Tyrion for his crime. It would be such a fucking waste, given all she has endured and lived through to make it this far.

And yet there's nothing she can do. She can no more convince Tyrion to kneel then Joffrey, and they're probably past the point where it would do any good. Tyrion has silently stood fast for too long, stretching into moments now. Sansa can tell that the King is about to order the dwarf beheaded, any mom-

"Look! The pie!"

And like that, Margaery Tyrell swoops in somehow to save the day as the entire wedding party reacts to the massive wedding pie being brought out on an honest to god litter. Sansa keeps her eyes on Tyrion and Joffrey of course, having no care for pastries when her life might still hang in the balance. But then Joffrey takes the goblet of wine contemptuously from Tyrion's hand and the two-part ways without further word.

Tyrion returns to Sansa's side as they all stand for the cutting. Joffrey draws his new Valyrian sword from its sheathe and the pain in Sansa's heart grows tenfold. She is no fool. She knows what became of Ice, in the end. To see her father's sword maimed and twisted to create this thing, it brings her such sorrow. Her face stays blank though, even as Joffrey brings the blade down on the pie and pigeons fly out from the interior as everyone cheers.

Perhaps… perhaps they can depart now? Sansa licks her lips and looks to her dwarf husband. The words are about to leave her mouth when the world shakes and a roar splits the sky that sends everyone scrambling. Sansa's eyes widen as she looks around. Even the Stark girl has heard the rumors of dragons and the like.

But before she or anyone else can react beyond the drawing of swords and the screams of those without weapons, the wooden wall behind the wedding party is torn away by the landing of a massive, black-scaled dragon. The Kingsguard that were stood behind the tables are crushed by claws bigger than Sansa's head.

Everyone is scrambling to get away, though Tywin Lannister doesn't move quickly enough of a huge jaw full of sharp teeth closes over the old man and snaps him up. There's a roar of fire and flames and the last thing Sansa hears of the Lord Paramount is an uncharacteristic scream as he's burnt alive in the beast's mouth and swallowed whole.

Sansa finds herself frozen in place, as does the rest of the wedding party as an oppressive presence slams into their minds. An amber eye slides over those before it, containing far more intelligence than the red head would expect from a beast. And then, the massive claws slide forward again and Margaery Tyrell, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, lets out a shriek as she's snatched up. The dragon beats its wings and a moment later it's gone, flying up into the air as Margaery's screams slowly disappear into the distance, long before anyone can arrive to save her.

The oppressiveness disappears after a moment more and the wedding party, those that still live anyways, all begin to move.

"D-D-Dragon! DRAGON! The dragon took my Queen! Get it! Shoot it down! Bring her b-ack!"

And of course, the King is the first to begin screaming. Except the end there sounded more like he was choking than a word.

Eyes turn towards the King as he begins to cough and hack and choke. Those attending the wedding who hid under tables rather than fleeing altogether, peek out just in time to see Joffrey doubling over as he coughs and coughs and coughs, until eventually he can't get any air out at all. No one says a word as Joffrey stumbles and then falls to his knees.

Finally, Cersei moves, as does the Kingslayer. The Lannister twins reach the King (their son, if the rumors are to be believed. And Sansa does believe them.) at around the same time, calling out to him. Sansa and Tyrion watch on. Tommen, Olenna, and Mace do as well. They are all that's left of the wedding party at this point, and they are all petrified into silence.

What… what is happening? In another time and place, a strange man would have come up to Sansa's side in that moment and told her that they needed to leave. Of course, in another time and place, there would not have been a dragon attack preceding the King's poisoning. The strange man had not been paid enough to stick around when the massive fire beast began its attack. He is not there to lead Sansa away from the wedding.

Instead, she stays and she watches as Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name dies in the dirt like the dog she's long known she is. And when Cersei turns to look at everyone, Sansa is not nearly fast enough to hide the wide, brilliant grin on her face. The Lannister woman snarls through teary eyes as she points at both Tyrion and Sansa.

"YOU! YOU TWO! YOU POISONED MY SON!"

Sansa freezes up… and then relaxes, even as goldcloaks have to step in to arrest both her and her dwarf husband. In the end, what comes will come. She did not poison Joffrey, though she wishes she had. In all honesty, if she is to die for a crime she did not commit, murdering Joffrey Baratheon would be to her preference.

The look of sorrow etched across Cersei's face and the painful and gruesome way Joffrey died… it will warm the red head's heart for quite some time to come, possibly until the day of her death if Cersei has her way.

Though honestly… who could have seen the dragon coming?!

 **-x-X-x-**

 **Did you guys know the Purple Wedding takes place on episode TWO of the fourth season? I didn't, not until today :V**

 **Also did you know that Joffrey consumed the poison BEFORE he took the first bite of pigeon pie? That's why he still died here btw. He'd taken that sip of the Strangler quite literally right before Drogon came in for his landing. Thems the brakes.**

 **Also also, did I get anyone with the Sansa POV and the Margaery Snatch & Grab? :P I actually rolled a 1d3 to decide which of the lovely ladies would get grabbed at the wedding and Margaery was the lucky one! As for why Drogon didn't grab two or try for all three... to build suspense of course!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: No sex in this chapter, just having fun at this point.**

 **-x-X-x-**

For a split second, in the midst of everything, Margaery Tyrell had wondered very briefly whether or not the dragon had come because she'd helped to poison the man she'd just married in the Sept. It was merely a fleeting thought of course. Not only did the Seven not have control over dragons, if it had been a punishment, Margaery imagined the dragon would have killed her grandmother or her father as it landed, not Tywin Lannister.

… Margaery had always wanted to be a Queen. But she hadn't wanted to be a Queen to a King like Joffrey Baratheon, and when her grandmother had made clear her intentions to remove Joffrey so that Margaery could move onto Tommen… sweet, young, malleable Tommen… well, how was Margaery to say no? And so the plan was hatched, and the poison procured.

She hadn't been entirely happy about implicating Sansa with the necklace of course, but in the end, sacrifices had to be made. The whole byplay between Joffrey and the Imp had been intensely uncomfortable to be sure, the most awkward of excesses from a King who she'd already known was as monstrous as they came. If only Renly had lived… but alas that road was closed.

Regardless, the tiff between the King and his short uncle had been the perfect cover by which to get ahold of Joffrey's filled wine cup (filled by Tyrion no less, the husband to their framed poisoner!) and leave it close to her grandmother for the tainting. Then she'd handed the cup back to Joffrey and he'd taken his first sip after cutting the Pigeon pie. He'd been about to take a bite of the pie too, when the dragon had arrived.

The young woman could only assume that her 'beloved' was dead now. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Still, her current situation was not the best one. Could be worse though. When the dragon's claw had initially curled around her waist, Margaery had expected death. She'd just watched Tywin Lannister get burned and swallowed in one smooth gulp after all.

So she'd screamed… and she'd kept on screaming as the dragon lifted her up into the air and flew away. The height and the speed at which the massive black-scaled drake flew, combined with her screaming, had not helped. She'd passed out from lack of air. When she'd woken up a little while later and saw nothing but water passing by beneath her, she'd begun to scream yet again… and subsequently fainted once more.

The next time she'd woken up, Margaery had been more in control of herself. She'd hung in the dragon's grip, transferred to his back claws and carried like a fresh kill in her slightly torn wedding dress, as they flew along to… where ever they were going. Dragonstone, the Tyrell girl rightly assumed. Still, it was dreadfully boring, once she got past the fear of imminent death. She didn't dare squirm… but she could at least speak.

Of course, Margaery had been playing the game of thrones for so long that having a beast to rant at was far better than having to put on a pretty smile and a docile façade to all the idiots in King's Landing.

"YOU IDIOT BEAST! I WAS THIS CLOSE! THIS CLOSE TO BEING QUEEN OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS WITHOUT HAVING TO PUT UP WITH THAT FUCKING TWAT OF A BOY! AND WHAT DO YOU DO?! YOU STEAL ME AWAY FROM MY OWN FUCKING WEDDING!"

It felt good to get that off her chest, but eventually she had to stop, as she felt herself becoming short of breath once more. And then her entire body stiffens as the dragon actually RESPONDS. Oh, not in words, not so much as that… but the amusement that pushes against her mind from all sides, causing her to shudder at the creature's massive mental presence, is certainly coming from him.

"… You can understand me?"

A certain sensation of agreement is pushed onto her and Margaery shudders once more, though this time in a faint bit of horror combined with just a tinge of curiosity. Her entire attitude changes immediately.

"I did not know you were so intelligent great dragon. I apologize for referring to you in such a derogatory manner."

The amusement she gets back again tells Margaery that the dragon isn't buying her abrupt one eighty, but the forgiveness that comes right after tells her he isn't holding a grudge regardless. Letting out a long, shuddering breath, Margaery squeezes her eyes shut as the wind whips at her face.

"May I… May I know where it is we're going?"

There's no emotion this time, instead there's an actual image that appears in her mind's eye. Dragonstone. Of course, as she'd thought… still, not ideal. The Targaryen Queen will be there with two more dragons just like this. Margaery isn't sure what Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen wants with her specifically, but it can't be anything good.

"… I don't suppose there's a chance I could convince you to go somewhere else?"

That actually gets a snort from the dragon, one that Margaery thinks is a bit derisive in tone. She's not really surprised when he sends back emotions that essentially boil down to 'No' in response. Letting out another sigh, Margaery just sort of slumps in the dragon's grasp. She has to conserve her strength. Whatever happens next, she will face Daenerys Targaryen as a Queen, no less.

-x-X-x-

"… Who are you?"

Having been dumped unceremoniously onto her ass right in front of the Mother of Dragons, Margaery couldn't help but wonder if the dragon could read minds and had done that on purpose. Looking up into the beautiful purple eyes of the Targaryen woman, she can't help but be a little intimidated. Daenerys is looking at her like she's a bug… and yet, the Dragon Queen doesn't know who she is?

Margaery is a teensy bit insulted. Not enough to let it bleed through of course. Bowing her head low, she doesn't dare get up off her knees so long as the massive black-scaled dragon is still circling them and watching. His desire in this regard has been made VERY clear.

"I am Margaery your grace. Margaery Tyrell."

"Ah, of Highgarden, yes? The Tyrells fought for my father until the end didn't they? Only bending the knee after his assassination and the fall of King's Landing."

There's actually a note of happiness in the Targaryen woman's voice and Margaery can't help but look up at her with a bit of incredulity in her eyes, though its covered up quite well but a nice smile and a batting of her eye lashes.

"… Yes your grace."

Daenerys is all smiles as well and for a moment Margaery is actually grateful that her crown fell off her head at some point while she was passed out and being carried her by the dragon.

And then, further lending credence to the idea that he might be reading her thoughts, the massive dragon stops his movements and lifts up his tail. It brushes against her hair and Margaery freezes up as she feels a familiar weight atop her head. Daenerys' smile disappears and her face becomes stony.

"… Why has my Drogon placed a crown atop your head, Margaery Tyrell?"

Just as it is obvious that the dragon (Drogon, apparently) wants her to kneel, it is equally obvious he's not going to let her lie there.

"… Your dragon happened to snatch me away on my wedding day, your grace. I had just been married to King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name in the Sept of Baelor."

And there it is. Daenerys' jaw sets and her beautiful violet eyes flash with anger.

"The Usurper's get…"

She hisses the words and Margaery finds herself blurting out a secret she'd planned to tell nobody, ever.

"If it helps your grace, the King more than likely died shortly after Drogon stole me away!"

That actually does seem to help as Daenerys forgets her anger for a moment to be surprised, lifting her eyebrows and looking to her dragon.

"Drogon, did you go and kill the King of Westeros for me, before bringing his bride back to Dragonstone?"

Drogon chuffles in response, doing what Margaery assumes is the draconic version of a snicker. He shakes his massive scaled head back and forth and when Daenerys turns her eyes back to her, Margaery is quick to elaborate, seeing an in with the Targaryen woman… honestly, she'd never wanted to be Queen anyways, really.

"N-No your grace, you misunderstand me! While your dragon did kill two members of the Kingsguard, as well as Lord Tywin Lannister, i-it was I and my grandmother who plotted to poison Joffrey's wine! I saw him drink the wine with mine own eyes before Drogon took me. Given the poison was the Strangler, there is no possible way that they managed to save his life. It is… very fast acting."

There's a moment of silence as Daenerys processes and ponders this.

"Why would you poison your husband on your wedding day?"

The obvious question finally arrives. Despite knowing it won't fly, the lie slips from Margaery's lips before she can fully stop herself… it still sounds unbelievably weak even to her ears.

"… Because the Tyrells remain your loyal servants my Queen?"

Daenerys just stares at her and eventually Margaery, feeling uncharacteristically chastised by a girl far closer to her own age than her grandmother, ducks her head.

"Because Joffrey Baratheon was a monster and we thought Tommen would be a far more pliable alternative, your grace."

Nothing quite like a massive dragon to drag truth from lips that it hadn't passed through in quite some time. Margaery couldn't help the wry thought, though she kept the accompanying smile off her face as she awaited the Dragon Queen's judgment. Eventually Daenerys just sighs.

"I'm not sure what you think is happening here Lady Tyrell. If you haven't figured it out by now, I did not send Drogon to King's Landing to ruin your wedding and kidnap you. My most ornery son does as he pleases. You belong to him now."

Margaery can't help but stare as the silver haired beauty turns to walk away.

"W-Wait! What do you mean, I belong to him?! I-I am a daughter of House Tyrell!"

Daenerys pauses and turns back slightly, not a single ounce of mercy or pity on her face.

"You will do quite well in Drogon's collection Lady Tyrell. I'm sure of it. We'll talk soon I imagine."

And then the other woman is gone and as Drogon presses in on her, both physically and mentally, Margaery can't help but be afraid. Nothing makes sense anymore, and nothing her grandmother taught her details how exactly one is supposed to deal with a massive dragon.

Staring into big, unblinking amber eyes, Margaery Tyrell swallows thickly.

… She'd only wanted to be Queen.

-x-X-x-

His father was dead and so was his son. His daughter was more than likely lost to him as well, and if the Dornish were telling the truth, it was the same scaled bastard who'd eaten his father.

And yet, Jaime Lannister really couldn't bring himself to feel anything more than a strange emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He was probably supposed to mourn the death of yet another King, this one his own flesh and blood through and through. He was probably supposed to mourn the death of his father as well, the man who'd hounded him to 'do better' all his life.

His off-hand clenches into a fist, while what once had been his sword hand remains open. He cannot clench what is not truly there and the golden replica given to him by Cersei is ultimately a worthless replacement. Hm, there was a bit of anger at least. But at who? Who was Jaime Lannister angry with? Was it the dragon that had potentially absconded with his daughter, and then burnt and ate his father?

The same father that had in fact recently told Jaime he no longer considered him a Lannister, after he'd in turn told Tywin he had no plans to resign from the Kingsguard? Perhaps it was his father he was angry at. Or perhaps he was angry with himself for failing to save his son. Only… the boy was monstrous. In this strange empty state Jaime finds himself in, he can admit that Joffrey was neither a good king or even slightly a good man. He'd seen all the evil of the Mad King he'd once slew to save a city in his own flesh and blood… yet without the slow descent into insanity.

Joffrey hadn't gone mad. He'd been born wrong, and he'd stayed wrong up until the day he died. Jaime could admit that, at least in the privacy of his own head. And yet, surely he was still expected to hate his brother for murdering his son? Yes, Tyrion was certainly a potential target for his anger. Him and that Stark wife of his. Sansa… Jaime hadn't thought the girl capable of such things, but the evidence was there.

Even still, his anger, if it was even there, was nothing next to his sister's rage. Cersei was-

"Bring out the prisoners!"

Ah, right. They were in the middle of an execution. Jaime supposed he probably shouldn't be quietly contemplating his own feelings at a time like this. Standing off to the side, the white-cloaked Kingsguard watches as his sister stands atop the execution stage. He is placed next to his last remaining child. Tommen Baratheon is to be King of the Seven Kingdoms now. With massive dragons flying about, Jaime doesn't know how much value such a thing has.

But for the time being, he's happy to stand at his son's side and guard the boy. Probably just as happy as Tommen was to pass all this off to his mother, once the evidence was produced. It was still hard to believe it, but Jaime couldn't exactly refute what was right before his eyes, now could he? Ah, and there they were now.

Tyrion and Sansa are led out in chains, looking quite the worse for wear. Tyrion has been tortured from the looks of things, while Sansa has at the very least been beaten. But they're still both intact enough for what's about to happen. Ser Ilyn Payne stands off to the side with an executioner's axe in hand. The chopping block is already set up and Jaime sees the way his brother's eyes drift to it. Sansa's do not however. In fact, the crimson haired girl is rather emotionless altogether. Her eyes hold no life to them, no fear or worry. She is dead inside, this one. It reminds him of all his family has done to her and hers… and makes it a little easier to believe she played a part in his son's death.

Cersei has a savage smile on her face that doesn't reach her eyes as she looks upon their brother and his wife. Unlike Jaime, there is no doubt in the Queen's mind that Tyrion and Sansa are guilty of this crime. But then, Cersei has always hated their brother. Stepping forward, the Queen spreads her arms wide to the smallfolk gathered below.

They'd started up with their usual jabbering as soon as Tyrion and Sansa had been brought out, but now they fall silent to hear what she has to say.

"People of King's Landing! Your King lies murdered, poison in his cup! These are the two who committed this most heinous crime!"

A dull roar. The smallfolk might not have loved Joffrey, though in recent days Margaery's efforts had turned their opinion on the boy around, but they did absolutely love to see highborn brought low. Tyrion and Sansa might have already been about as low as one could get… but the thought of an execution always got the blood roiling for the peasants of King's Landing. It made Jaime a little sick, if he was being honest.

Cersei steps back and Grand Maester Pycelle steps forward, speaking loudly and clearly.

"Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark stand accused of poisoning King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The poison was procured by the Lady Sansa and hung around her neck in a specially crafted necklace, and the deed itself was done by Lord Tyrion, during his short tenure as the King's cupbearer. This is the truth of their deeds. May they confess their crimes now before the eyes of god and men, and beg for mercy, though they may not deserve it."

It'll be Tyrion's turn to speak now. Jaime can't help but lean forward a little bit. What defense will the man have for his actions? His brother has always had a way with words, wielding them like Jaime would a sword, before losing his hand.

The half-man steps up and stands as tall as he can, even as the smallfolk hurl insults at him.

"POISONER! MURDERER! KINSLAYER!"

He would be all of these and more, if it was true. Jaime still found himself wondering, despite the evidence against Tyrion. It seems that his brother is prepared to wait the smallfolk out, and once they realize this, they quiet down in order to hear what the Imp might say in his defense. Only as it falls quiet, does he begin to speak.

"People of King's Landing. The crimes I am accused of cannot be laid at my feet. I did not poison my dear nephew. In the chaos of a wedding gone wrong, where my father is dead and the new Queen is stolen, both at the hands of a dragon, would I not have chosen to escape during the confusion, rather than stand around waiting for the King to die?! My lady wife and I have been FRAMED! The necklace that has been used as evidence against us was given to Lady Sansa by one Ser Dontos Hollard! He claimed it was an heirloom of his family, but that was obviously a lie! Find him and you will be one step closer to discovering the one who gave HIM the necklace!"

Jaime is a little surprised. His brother is usually better with words than this, and better at reading a crowd to. Perhaps Tyrion has lost too much blood to be fully cognizant? Or he's taken one too many knocks upside the head to realize his heartfelt plea of innocence changes absolutely no one's mind.

The crowd begins to shout again, pelting the half-man with both words and rocks as he hides his face. They do not believe him and Jaime isn't quite sure he believes his brother either, no matter how convincing Tyrion sounds. In the end, it doesn't truly matter. Cersei will not be swayed from her current course and there is absolutely no one here to stop her from going through with the execution. Their father might have, but then he's dead.

The Queen steps forward and the crowd falls quiet once more as she sneers at their brother.

"A quaint little story to be sure, poisoner. But it will not be enough to save you from your fate. For the murder of my son, for the murder of the King, I sentence you to death by beheading!"

And there it is. Ser Ilyn Payne looks giddy with excitement and even takes a step forward before being called. Only, it seems Tyrion has one last trick up his sleeve.

"I would let the gods decide my fate! I demand a Trial by Combat!"

A gasp leaves the crowd as Cersei stands there for a moment, frozen in place with a vicious smirk across her face. Yet, now that the words have left their brother's lips, Jaime is more surprised that none of them saw it coming, than anything else. Perhaps it was Tyrion's stature that made them believe he would go quietly to his death, rather than risk a humiliating end in a Trial by Combat. And it would be humiliating, Jaime knew his sister well enough to be sure of that.

"… Very well. You will have your Trial by Combat. Here, now, with Ser Payne. You may begin."

The sheer vindictiveness in Cersei's voice does not surprise Jaime, even as the tongue-less executioner grins a macabre grin and hefts his axe, walking towards Tyrion with purpose in his step. Their brother's eyes widen and he begins to back up, though the execution stage does not allow for much maneuverability and Tyrion's stature does not help him keep ahead for Payne for long.

"If I am to be denied a Champion, I should surely get at least a weapon!"

Tyrion's panic is of increasing amusement to the smallfolk. What Cersei does next makes them laugh even harder though. Belatedly, Jaime realizes that his sister DID in fact expect this last demand from Tyrion. Why else would she have the poison necklace to pull from seemingly nowhere and toss his way. To his credit, Tyrion catches it even as he tries to evade Payne and Cersei answers him in a mocking tone.

"But of course! And what better weapon for a poisoner, than his poison! Go on then, prove your innocence before the gods!"

Tommen is tense beside him, and off to the other side of the stage Jaime can see the Tyrells (the remaining ones anyways) watching the exchange with stony faces as Tyrion does his absolute best to continue evading Ser Payne. Jaime lifts his hand to Tommen's shoulder and squeezes it even as the chase rapidly comes to a close and his brother ends up flat on his back.

With that same grin on his face, the bald execution lifts his axe high overhead, clearly preparing to split Tyrion's small form in two with one swing, right down the middle. Jaime forces himself to look ahead, even as Tommen averts his gaze. And that's when the ground shakes and a familiar roar fills the air. Payne is knocked from his feet by the landing of the massive black-scaled dragon as it returns once more and immediately demolishes half of the execution stage in its wake.

The smallfolk run screaming, even as Jaime reacts instinctively by grabbing Tommen and hurling his last remaining child free of the dragon's rapidly swinging tail. The two fall from the stage to the ground below together, and Jaime covers his son with his own body, hoping to keep at least this small triumph of his alive where all else has died.

The sounds of violence and terror and dragon fire fill the air for a few moments, and then it's all over and Jaime hears the dragon beating its wings as a familiar feminine voice screams his name. Eyes wide, he looks up from his position on the ground to see the dragon already disappearing into the distance. The voice disappears with it.

Slowly, Jaime stands and pulls Tommen to his feet. The next to be King is not injured from the fall it seems, and together the two of them climb back up on the wrecked stage to find a sight that Jaime can't quite decipher. His sister is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Mace Tyrell. Olenna and Loras Tyrell are knocked down but still alive. The old woman is even still conscious, surprisingly enough. Sansa Stark is sitting on the stage with wide eyes and her mouth agape, as if she simply can't believe what just happened… and Tyrion, his half-brother Tyrion, is kneeling at the side of Ser Ilyn Payne's body, stabbing a knife taken from the executioner's boot into the dead man's eyes over and over again.

"What… what happened?"

It's Tyrion who answers him, amusingly enough. His brother slowly stops his repetitive motion and pulls the bloody knife from Payne's eye one last time, standing up with it in one as if he thinks he will have to use it again shortly.

"The dragon did, of course. It burned and ate Mace Tyrell and took Cersei. And I suppose in the meantime, I won my Trial by Combat. My lady wife and I are innocent before the eyes of gods and men."

There are no smallfolk left to sway one way or the other. At this point, there's no one around for hundreds of yards. A dragon was certainly a quick way to clear an area. Cersei would undoubtedly try to gainsay Tyrion, if she were here. She would probably even order Jaime to carry out the executions himself. At the very least, their sister would declare Sansa still guilty and have him execute the Stark girl.

Cersei isn't here anymore. And Jaime finds he has no stomach for killing today. With no objections forthcoming from either Olenna or Loras, Jaime slowly nods his head, knowing his words will no doubt influence Tommen to go along with it.

"… I suppose you are then."

And that's that. Until the next time the bloody fucking dragon comes calling.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **A/N: So that happened. Hm, 2 down, 1 to go... time to bring Littlefinger into things I feel. He wasn't quite able to set up an escape for Sansa while Cersei was on the war path, but NOW...**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey! So someone's currently paying me to write more of this! That said, direction of the story remains in my hands, so feel free to continue suggesting ideas and what not for where we can take this. I just might use 'em!**

 **For now, let's get back on track. To start with, we're gonna go back and resolve Margaery and Cersei before moving onto the last of the Three Musketeers next chapter, Sansa...**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-x-X-x-**

As my mother leaves me alone with Margaery Tyrell, Would-Be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I grin a little, and begin to shift from my spot on the edge of the room, stalking forward. Margaery's entreating words, having no effect on my mother's back as Daenerys walks out of the room, die down as she turns to face me, taking me in as I rise up on my full height. Feeling perhaps a little melodramatic, I bring my wing claws crashing down on either side of the small young woman, eyeing her up and down as she jumps and twitches each time, ultimately freezing up in between my wings.

It'd been a spur of the moment thing, snatching up Margaery Tyrell and making off with her from the Purple Wedding. Killing Tywin had been fun, and so had terrorizing everyone else. But Joffrey was definitely dead now, and since I'd almost certainly delivered a nice tail swipe that removed the head of the man who was supposed to sneak Sansa away from the wedding and then the city, she herself was still there, along with Tyrion.

And with no Tywin to temper Cersei Lannister's rage, well, I could guess what was going to happen next. I had some time to play with my newest toy, and then I would be back to King's Landing to clean up the mess I made. Maybe. Maybe I'd just fuck with them some more instead, we'd have to see. Regardless, for now, I had Margaery Tyrell, whom, as a human, I'd considered probably the most beautiful woman on the show.

Oh sure, my mother was pretty smoking hot as well, and now that I'd been intimate with Daenerys more times than I could count, I could safely say she was currently beating Margaery's trembling, terrified form by a landslide. There was just something so damn sexy about seeing Dany's face contorting with pleasure as she rides my gargantuan cock. Though, my length IS getting pretty large. At this point, my mother is even starting to have trouble with it. I'm growing far, far too big to keep up my sexual lifestyle…

Regardless, that was something to consider for another time. As was the fact that every time I added to my hoard, be it in gold or gems or women, I felt… stronger, somehow. That was something I was still considering, something I needed to figure out before going any further. For now, though, it was time to play.

Reaching out with my mind, with my extra sense, I prod Margaery with my desire. Her beautiful brown eyes go wide, and she's rocked backwards a step by my intentions.

"Y-You… I… you want to…"

I prod her again, this time with actual images. The images feature her undressing, and end with her wearing a distinct amount of nothing before me… save for that cute crown I'd gone ahead and plopped up on her head. Daenerys had not been amused by Margaery's attempt at subterfuge, but then, my mother didn't know the Would-Be Queen like I did. Margaery Tyrell would do anything to climb the social ladder.

Watching emotions flicker across her face, I cock my massive draconic head to the side in a rather disturbing fashion thanks to my long, sinuous neck. Margaery's eyes follow me, but I can see the consideration in her gaze now, I can see her quick-witted mind overtaking her fear and terror. She's feeling the weight of that crown now, and my lips curl back all the further to show off rows and rows of sharp dragon fangs in a somewhat macabre grin. I have her, and we both know it.

"… Very well…"

Outwardly, Margaery manages to come across as far more composed than she actually is, not quite understanding yet that I can feel how much turmoil she's currently experiencing, not realizing I can see just how afraid she still is, though she's fighting it back admirably even as she begins to undress right before my eyes. The beautiful wedding dress comes off easily enough, slipping off her smooth, creamy shoulders and sliding down her arms as she works it down the length of her gorgeous, hourglass figure.

She actually starts to get into it, and upon seeing the sway in her hips and the way her eyes are lulling shut, I pull back briefly, giving her enough room to work as she strips the rest of the way. It's like something out of an amateur stripping video from back home, to be perfectly honest. It's clear that she doesn't truly know what she's doing, but also clear that she's a sensual and sexual enough creature that she's willing to just go with the flow and use that sensuality, as well as her sexuality, to try and entice me.

Cute, but I'm already enticed. Eventually though, one Margaery Tyrell, Would-Be Queen, complete with a crown atop her head, stands before me without a single other article of clothing on her body. She's got something of a lewd little grin on her face now, though perhaps its better described as sultry, or seductive. Margaery is the one who stalks forward now, even as I lay out along the breadth of the large balcony, because that is where we are at this point.

Dragonstone has a perch near the top which was clearly made for dragons to disgorge their riders, because there was an entrance into the keep that led straight to the throne room. But I digress… there's a naked Tyrell in front of me.

"So big… so strong. If these are the cards I am dealt, who am I to complain, yes? Will you accept me, Drogon? Will you… take me as your Queen?"

She's grasping so damn hard right now, and I kind of love it. Margaery Tyrell is no fool like her father. But she's also got a long way to go before she can lay claim to a title like her grandmother's, the Queen of Thorns. Though to be fair to the girl, she's up against a dragon. I honestly don't think even Olenna could have possibly navigated a 'conversation' with me without making a few mistakes.

Or perhaps in her old age, the elderly woman would have simply known better and not engage at all, save to bend the knee and bow her head. Regardless, a masterful tactician, her granddaughter is not. A naked Margaery creeps ever closer, and as she does so, I flop onto my side, and let my massive draconic cock, ridged and thick and almost as large as Margaery herself.

It's no wonder that the Tyrell girl stops dead upon laying eyes on it.

"T-That… I won't… I can't f-fit that thing inside of me, m-mighty Drogon…"

I snort derisively at that, and a plume of black smoke launches from my flaring nostrils. For the epitome of seduction, one would expect Margaery to stay composed for a LITTLE bit longer. Still, as I'd just got done thinking, she is pretty far out of her depth. I just figured she'd try to fake it until she made it. Either way… I push out at her mentally, sending her some more images, some more desires, what I want from her. I don't overwhelm her quite yet, not like I've done with other women in my growing hoard. No, I want to tease her for a LITTLE longer at least…

Trembling as she nods slowly, processing what I want her to do, Margaery creeps forward, a lot less confident than before as she finally descends to her knees at my side, right before my thick cock. Her hands reach out, and she lays them on my member, starting to slide them up and down, slowly getting a feel for what she's dealing with.

"W-Warm… hot, even. You're very hot, mighty Drogon…"

The words are murmured, and I'm not entirely sure if she even knows she's speaking. She's still staring at my member after all, and more specifically, the leaking tip of it, where my seed is already beginning to pulse out of me, bit by bit, though not a full climax by any means. I rumble appreciatively when Margaery Tyrell leans forward without any input from me and promptly seals her lips around the flared tip of my ridged length, starting to suck at my cockhead even as she has to press her soft body against the side of my shaft just to get close.

One of my eyes watches her, even as I lay back and enjoy the ministrations, the worship by this Would-Be Queen. At the same time, her chocolate-brown gaze slides up to fixate on that visible yellow eye, and she stares at me, even as she drinks more and more of my precum, even as she slobbers and drools, what she doesn't drink sliding down between my cock and her body and causing her to slide up and down my length all the more easily.

She's wrapped herself around my shaft at this point, her crown barely remaining in place as she grows more and more enthusiastic. I just grin, my sharp teeth on full display. That's a good girl. That's a good little Would-Be Queen. She's mine now, my pet, my toy… part of MY hoard. Something deep inside of me rumbles with approval at that thought as well, though of course Margaery takes it as a sign that she's doing well and ultimately redoubles her efforts in an attempt to please and impress me.

As she does so, I take a moment to contemplate some of the sensations I've been feeling of late. I was beginning to think I wasn't necessarily ONLY Drogon, ONLY a Planetosian Dragon. Obviously, I didn't know for sure, and I couldn't exactly say for sure yet either… but there were signs. And I felt like I was on the cusp of something, like I was closing in on something more than just this.

I was the Apex Predator of this entire damn world, but there was more to it than that, and I just had to keep pushing forward, I just had to keep… collecting. Yes, that was definitely what part of this feeling was. It wasn't so much the additions to the hoard that did it for me. Oh, they helped, I could tell that much. The best feeling that I could liken it to was like some sort of 'XP Bar' that I was constantly filling up.

A gold dragon counted as one 'point', while a gem might count as three or five. My growing hoard of treasure certainly contributed to this imaginary 'bar' that existed only in my head, as did the collection of women. However, it was only when those women submitted totally, only when they worshipped me and accepted their place at my feet, that I felt a true increase in the bar, measured in hundreds instead of ones or threes or fives.

That was interesting. That was something to explore. And right now, as Margaery Tyrell, the Would-Be Queen of Westeros, stolen on her wedding day from a King she'd poisoned moments before I picked her up, worshipped my cock… I could feel quite a lot of power flowing into me. Not enough, not yet… but a lot. Not that I even could really tell what enough would be, but I didn't intend to stop until I found it.

With a growling groan, I begin to cum. Margaery is rather skilled with her technique, despite dealing with a male she's never encountered before. My entire member, ridged and large and draconic, is covered in her pussy juices and her saliva and more as she hugs it close and continues to suck on the head of my massive phallus.

Of course, when I finally begin to cum, her head is rocked back, she's not at all able to handle the pressure. She takes the first pulse of seed to the back of her throat and the next twenty to her body as my cum sprays upwards and then rains down upon her, coating her and her crown in a thick, viscous layer of seed. Margaery just kneels there for a moment, taking it and seemingly accepting that this was her new lot in life.

Then, a little bit of it slips onto her tongue, and I get to watch what happened to Daenerys, to my mother, happen all over again as Margaery Tyrell begins to consume my seed, seeming to find the taste quite agreeable indeed. My wicked, toothy grin remains on my face, even as I snake my tail around behind the preoccupied girl, sliding it up… and right through her crown, taking it off her head easily.

The cum-covered young woman freezes at that, and her eyes track to where the crown is now dangling from the tip of my tail, high above her. I make sure she's watching, and then I fling the crown with casual contempt off of the perch, letting it sail away, far, far away. It won't even hit land, I've made sure of that. The thing will eventually hit the water, and then it'll sink beneath the waves.

Of course, it pains me a little to get rid of any part of my hoard, even the crown. I can quite literally feel the loss, deep inside of me. But it was worth it to deliver this abject lesson to one Margaery Tyrell. As she looks from where the crown disappeared back to me, I make sure to make eye contact with her… and I continue to do so until she bows her head in supplication and obedience.

She's not quite broken yet. I'm taking my time with her. But she knows better than to test me… and no matter what she might desire, she will ALWAYS be the Would-Be Queen. Nothing more. After all, my mother is going to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, once we deal with the White Walkers. There's no place for rival sovereigns in such a world.

Which gives me an idea for what I'll do next. Having finished with inducting Margaery Tyrell into my hoard, I scoop her up and leap down from the perch with her, heading back to a lower carved out entryway that leads to my domain near the top of Dragonstone, even as Margaery screams. Time to introduce her to the others… and then, it'll be time for me to head back to King's Landing.

No more Queens besides my mother. That's just how it was going to be.

-x-X-x-

Cersei comes back to consciousness… slowly. Her head hurts a little, but as she begins to move around, she finds her entire body actually aches. The last thing she remembers is… what? She was watching Ser Payne as he was about to split her bastard dwarf of a little brother in twain, right? Tyrion had demanded a trial by combat, the little fool. And he'd been about to die for it, she distinctly remembered that.

But something had gone wrong. The earth had quaked and rumbled, and the last thing she remembered was turning with everyone else to watch as the black scaled dragon that burned and consumed her father barreled down towards her. With that memory being the last one Cersei has, the blonde Queen quickly sits up, eyes wide as her full senses come back to her, adrenaline rushing through her body.

How… how was she even still alive?! The dragon had definitely been coming for her. She'd seen teeth and claws and large yellow eyes staring right into her own, right before it all went black. Had she… had she fainted? But then, why had the dragon left her alive? Why-

"Mother. You're awake."

Cersei is abruptly torn from her thoughts by a voice she hadn't expected to hear, ever again. Slowly, the Queen Mother turns her head to find Myrcella Baratheon, her once-lost daughter, knelt beside her, expressionless and staring at her. For a moment, Cersei feels nothing but happiness, a deep joy that causes an instinctive and altogether honest smile to spread across her face. Just seeing her daughter's features again, those gorgeous eyes, her beautiful blonde hair, her feminine cheeks…

Lunging forward, the older woman wraps her arms around her child… possibly her only child at this point. Joffrey was dead, and Tommen… Tommen had been up on the platform with her when the dragon had attacked, as had Jaime. It was entirely possible that she and Myrcella were the last Lannisters alive.

"Myrcella! You've returned to me!"

Of course, as happy as she is, it only takes one sentence from her daughter to bring her out of the fantasy she finds herself in.

"No mother, I have not."

This time, Cersei registers the flat, dispassionate, and altogether unaffectionate tone of her wayward, lost daughter's voice. Pulling back, the Queen Mother stares at Myrcella, finally taking her in fully… every last bit of her. From the flinty look in her eyes, to the set of her clenched jaw… and then finally down below her neckline, to the truly scandalous sheer garment that Myrcella is wearing, a dress that makes her look more like… like a slave then the princess she rightfully is.

Cersei opens her mouth to say something about this, to question her daughter, but Myrcella beats her to the punch, finishing her thought.

"I haven't gone anywhere, mother. You've been brought to me… to join me."

What? Cersei's thought process is thoroughly derailed as she takes that in. But at the end of the day, it makes a startling amount of sense. Why would Myrcella be here in King's Landing, wearing that? Why would she be the only one to greet her upon waking, rather than a Maester? Simple enough… they weren't IN King's Landing.

For the first time, Cersei takes in their surroundings. It doesn't help much, given that they're in a massive hall, man-made obviously, but larger than any room she's ever seen before. Pillars of stone and granite and marble litter the place, likely to hold the ceiling up, along with some hastily constructed scaffolding that likely has the same purpose.

Of course, Cersei glances over all of that, instead fixating on what she considers to be the room's most important feature. It's certainly the most prominent, because along one side of the massive hall… is a heaping pile of gold, jewels, and jewelry that leaves the Queen Mother's mouth agape and her eyes wide as she stares at it in silent shock.

She's a daughter of Casterly Rock, and as a child, she'd managed to sneak into the Lannister Treasury a handful of times. She's seen a lot of gold in one place before… or at least, she thought she had. This though? This is more wealth than the Seven Kingdoms could possibly have ever had. It's mind-boggling, and she finds her first thought is right, because as she peers closer, she takes note of the fact that not all the coinage is from the Seven Kingdoms. Oh sure, there are gold dragons aplenty… but there are also plenty of oddly shaped coins that she knows from her lessons, long since passed, come from Free Cities in Essos.

"Myrcella… where are we?"

Her daughter snorts indelicately, and Cersei whips her head around, instinctively ready to reprimand her for her impropriety and lack of manners. But once again, Myrcella beats her to the punch with an answer that causes her blood to run cold.

"We're in Drogon's lair, mother. Where else would we be?"

At first, she thinks she hears 'dragon'. But then it processes correctly, and she realizes it doesn't matter, because Myrcella might as well have said dragon. Drogon was supposed to be the name of one of that Targaryen cunt's three dragons. The dragons that Cersei hadn't believed existed until the day of her son's death, the day that was supposed to be the best of Joffrey's life. It was definitely a dragon that killed Tywin, a dragon that stole away Margaery Tyrell and threw the realm into chaos.

It was a big… black dragon, and as Cersei starts to move towards Myrcella, starts to get the idea that they needed to run, NOW, a massive shape shifts through the shadows on the side of the room opposite of the giant pile of treasure. Cersei stares at it over her daughter's shoulder, tensing in fear.

"Myrcella, we have to go. We have to get out of here, right now."

"Don't be silly, mother. Drogon wouldn't like that. And as his servant, it is my duty to serve him."

That immediately raises Cersei's hackles, and she takes her eyes off of the shifting black shape for a second to glare at her daughter, practically snarling.

"You are NO man's servant, Myrcella!"

Unfortunately, it seems that taking her eyes off of the shape was a mistake, because the next thing Cersei knows, there's a truly massive shadow looming over them both, and as she slowly looks up, she finds large yellow eyes and even larger rows of fangs staring back down at her as the massive black dragon grins. Myrcella, meanwhile, is completely unfazed, still held by the shoulders as she lets out a soft sigh in the face of her mother's arrogance.

"Drogon isn't a man, mother."

And that's when Drogon himself interjects. The dragon doesn't speak, not in the way Cersei is accustomed to. But she feels him all the same, and he's inside her head, while also filling the room with his presence, pressing in on her from every direction. When Myrcella pulls herself free of her mother's grasp and stands up, looming over the Queen Mother, Cersei can't help but cry out.

It's too much… it's just too much. It's… it's majestic. Tears stream down the older woman's face, the beautiful mother of three sobbing as she stares up at her daughter, and at the magnificent creature just over her shoulder, looming over both of them even now. It… no, not it, HE is… is everything. Cersei Lannister has never been one for religion, outside of ways she could use it to get what she wanted. But in this moment, the woman has something akin to a religious experience, her face enraptured as the sheer weight of Drogon's presence breaks her.

Why was she fighting so hard to remain Queen? Why had she been so hateful and spiteful towards Margaery Tyrell? What was the point in all of that political power, when it held not a candle in the face of Drogon's glory, his personal might? She'd been a fool. Myrcella was right. Drogon was not a man. But he was worthy of worship. He was worthy of service…

Desire pounds into Cersei's mind, and from the sound of things, Myrcella's as well. Her daughter gasps and then moans in delight and falls to her knees beside her mother once more, her hands disappearing beneath the sheer garment she's wearing as she begins to pleasure herself. Cersei doesn't even realize she's falling suit until her dress is half undone by her own hands and she's able to hear her own moans exiting her lips.

But once she starts… she just can't bring herself to stop. She needs this. She needs what Drogon has to offer. She wants… she wants to serve.

-x-X-x-

As Cersei's ironclad will breaks under the massive weight of my own, I can't help but smile even wider than I already am, rows and rows of teeth on full display as I take in the sight of mother and daughter masturbating for my amusement right before my eyes. Of course, Cersei has a lot more cloth to get through before she can touch herself in the same way Myrcella is doing from the very beginning with ease, but there's a lot of fun to be had in watching the sexy MILF of a Queen as she tears at her own extravagant dress without a care, still staring up at me with wide eyes and tear streaks down her perfect cheeks.

She really is beautiful. Cersei Lannister, former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Unlike Margaery though, she'd actually been Queen, and for a long while as well. Margaery was fun to toy with and play with for a time, but Cersei was the kind of woman who'd been prepared to kill herself and everyone else if Stannis managed to breach the Red Keep during his attack on King's Landing. I could only imagine how far she would go if she felt like there was no escape from a dragon and his mistress, the last Targaryen.

No, best to shatter her now. And from the way she was fingering herself in such a humiliating fashion, her torn dress exposing her flesh and her body shaking and shivering and bucking against her own digits, it was obvious that the Lannister MILF was most definitely broken. Still, that didn't mean I was done with her yet.

Moving away from the two women, over to the massive mounds of gold and gems and what not that are gathered along one wall of the giant chamber, I settle onto my hoard of material wealth with a satisfying crooning sound, laying out atop it and watching as Myrcella's eyes light up the moment I expose my underbelly… and more importantly, my cock.

She rises from her knees, and when her mother doesn't immediately follow, she shows just how vicious she can be by grabbing the older woman by her hair, gripping tightly at Cersei's long blonde curls and dragging her across the room on her hands and knees as she cries out pitifully in the face of her daughter's abusive actions.

Myrcella lets go once she reaches the edge of the pile, and then climbs up the mountain of gold to reach me. Cersei, now seeing what her daughter is doing, and with a pulse of helpful desire from me, follows after Myrcella, climbing up as well. Once she gets to where she wants to be, Myrcella strips out of her concubine's dress and helps her mother tear off the tattered remains of her own dress as well.

Then, she lays herself out on her back across my hoard, leaving her hands and her mouth in reach of my ridged member. Cersei does the same, practically mimicking her daughter at this point, though her eyes never leave my cock. But to be fair, neither do Myrcella's. The mother-daughter pair reach out in unison as I prod them with my satisfaction at their actions, combined with my desire for them to do more.

Together, the two begin to work over my massive length, as well as my hefty ball sack. I lay back and let them have at it, luxuriating in the sensations of both them hard at work, and the gorgeous pile of gold pressed against my spiked back. This? This was the life. Oh yes. And Cersei Lannister was officially my fucking bitch.

The thought brings a big, wicked smile to my face, and I can feel the power I'm drawing from the former Queen now that I'm looking for it, even as she gives me her loyalty, her devotion, her adoration. All she has to do is worship me for whatever this is deep inside of me to grow and expand. Soon… soon, I feel like I just might become something new, and I don't even know what. All I know is, I'm looking forward to finding out what it is.

For now, though, Myrcella is teaching her mother all about how to please their master, how to please ME. And that alone would be a sight worth witnessing, even without the delightful pleasure that accompanies it. Still… I don't think I'm done terrorizing King's Landing quite yet. After all, I haven't completed the set, now have I?

At this point, there were three women worth snatching up in King's Landing. Margaery Tyrell, I'd taken on her wedding day. Cersei Lannister, I grabbed up right before she could witness her hated brother's death. Whether Tyrion had lived or not was up in the air, but I HAD witnessed him stabbing his executioner in the face again and again as I left the promenade in utter chaos.

So even if he was killed afterwards in the chaos that followed, I didn't doubt that one of the myriad of people who had interest in Sansa Stark at this point would have made sure she was safe. And Sansa was the last I needed to grab before I finished the set. The Would-Be Queen, the Queen Mother… and the girl who regretted everything.

Sansa was who I'd go find next. Starting tomorrow though. For now, I'm going to spend the rest of tonight with my two blonde pets. Myrcella and Cersei, daughter and mother… now my sweet little concubines, eager parts of my growing hoard. Right where they both belonged.

 **-x-X-x-**

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I'm sure this won't make everyone happy, but it's where I want to go with it, so yeeeah.**

 **Still, taking advice as usual. Things like what girls remain to be lewded, or what past girls should be lewded together using Drogon's new form and what not...**

 **Also, it's still in the infant stages of planning, but if the commissioner wants to continue funding this, I may eventually take things multidimensional, because I feel like this idea is running its course as it were in the GoT universe. So ideas for where SI!Drogon could go are also welcome!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **-x-X-x-**

Her entire family is likely dead. Honestly, it's something she should probably shed a tear over, but Sansa has learned well enough to never show weakness such as that, even when among those who say they're trying to help you. ESPECIALLY among those who say they're trying to help you. As the ship rises and falls with the ebb and flow of the waves beneath them, the most Sansa does to express her discontent (to put it mildly) with everything that's happened is to flare her nostrils outwards.

To be fair, she's known for some time now that no other Stark is likely to remain alive on Westeros. Her little brothers, according to all reports, were dead at Theon Greyjoy's hands, burnt when he sacked Winterfell. Bran and Rickon… one a cripple and the other far too young to understand what was happening… she could only imagine the ways they both suffered before they died.

And then there was Robb and mother. Foolish, foolish Robb. Not that Sansa blamed him for starting the war on father's behalf of course. She had in the beginning, before the decapitation of her papa, and the beatings that followed. He'd done the right thing, and he'd even been winning, up until he thought with his dick instead of his brain. And mother? Mother had let him. Sansa would mourn them forever, but she also thought she might blame them forever as well. It wasn't fair for her to do so, perhaps… but life wasn't fair, now was it?

Her sister, Arya… Sansa didn't have confirmation on her, to be perfectly fair. But how could Arya have possibly survived out there, alone in the world? It was almost certain that death had found her by this point, taking the life from those bright, wild eyes. Amusingly enough, it's for Arya that Sansa has to hold back the tears the most. But then, she's not just mourning her dead sister, but also her failures as an elder sibling, her inability to connect with Arya in any truly meaningful way before they were torn apart by the insatiable greed and lusts of others.

That just left the bastard, really. Perhaps it was wrong of Sansa to think of Jon in that way, especially now. After all, he might be the closest blood relative she has left. But if he was alive, it was because he was still up on that damn wall, playing Watcher. He'd gone north and taken the Black while the Starks went south and died for it. It felt wrong, it all felt so wrong. Once again, it was probably greatly unfair of Sansa to put any blame for what had happened on Jon.

After all, she could place just as much blame on her father for being stubborn and honorable enough to refuse to play the game, only to lose his head for it. She could place plenty of blame on Robb for being foolish enough to let a girl distract him from his sworn duties. She could blame her mother, for not being strong enough to stop her son, or for what she'd done to Tyrion in the first place that kicked so much of this off.

But in all fairness, Sansa didn't blame any of them, not even Jon, nearly as much as she blamed herself. It was she who'd pushed her father again and again to make the match between her and Joffrey happen. It was she who'd wanted so badly to be a Queen, who'd wanted to believe that she was getting her fairytale ending with all her heart. It was she who'd willfully blinded herself to the depravities of both her betrothed and his mother, until eventually her father lay dead before her, and she'd gone from would-be Queen to prisoner like that.

Yes. Sansa knew much of this was her fault, and some day… some day she'd have to pay for that. When that day would come, she did not know. Especially not when there was a man who was trying with all his heart to secret her away to who knew where.

"Lady Sansa! How fare you this fine morning?"

Sansa's blue eyes slide down from where they were staring off into nothingness to take in the figure speaking with her from down on the deck. From where she stands on the upper deck, leaning on the railing just a few feet to the side of and in front of the ship's wheel, she can't help but find him to be so… little. But then, to be fair…

"I am well, Lord Baelish."

She says the words without much relish, but he smiles as if she's just graced him with the most beautiful smile in turn. Then, another man, the crew's first mate if Sansa has been paying attention (which she HAS) demands his attention, and Petyr Baelish, the man who's spirited her away from King's Landing, turns away for a moment to speak with him in lower tones than she can hear from her current position on the upper deck.

Sansa has no desire to draw closer though, instead sliding her gaze back up to straight ahead, looking out onto the horizon before them. If she looks to her left, she'll see the coast that they're hugging as they make their way to their ultimate destination, the Eerie, but she prefers straight ahead, prefers to stare out into the seemingly unending sea, with all its possibility of end laid out before her.

Is she suicidal? No, perhaps not… but she also does not fear death so much anymore. An end to life would mean an end to this pain she carries within her. The corner of Sansa's mouth quirks up at the thought, a hint of a real smile before it fades just as quickly as it comes. At least… at least she can say she outlived Joffrey, and likely Cersei as well.

King's Landing was still in chaos when she left it at Littlefinger's side. But then, repeated visits by a dragon would do that, or so Sansa figured. Not that she wasn't happy they'd happened. The wedding between Joffrey and Margaery had pissed her off to no end, not least of all because of Joffrey's treatment of Tyrion. If you'd told Sansa that she would come to pity, if not quite care about a Lannister after all they'd done to her and her family, she would have… well, likely she would have just smiled and nodded, while internally laughing her ass off.

Regardless, after being forced to marry the Imp and then not being forced to bed him, Sansa had come to realize that Tyrion was not like the others. No, if anything, they hated him more than her, or at least as much as her. After Joffrey's death and the death of Lord Tywin, Cersei had certainly hated both Sansa and her dwarf brother equally.

The idea that either of them had anything to do with Joffrey's poisoning seemed ludicrous, at least to Sansa. But then the truth of the necklace had come out, and she'd realized that, much like her father, she'd become a pawn in the game simply because she'd never tried to play it. To be perfectly fair, Sansa had never thought she COULD play it. It'd seemed so far out of her reach, like she would always be a piece, rather than a player. Even still, standing up on that chopping block that day beside Tyrion, ready to lose her head in the same place and the same way that her father did… it had put quite a lot into perspective for the young Stark woman.

And then, while Tyrion was trying to save both their lives with nothing but his wits, his short stubby legs, and the poison necklace that had killed Joffrey, the dragon had shown up again. Sansa had been sure she was going to die in that moment, as the massive black beast descended from on high, heading right for the raised platform. She'd cowered instinctively, not quite as ready for death as she'd thought at the time. But then, who wanted to go like that? Ripped to shreds by a dragon, or even worse, burnt and swallowed alive down that massive throat?

Sansa had cowered, and yet, when the dust settled, she'd still be cowering, completely untouched. The dragon had not come for her… it'd come for Cersei Lannister, and the Queen Mother's screams had echoed through the sky as it flew off with her in its clutches. Sansa was unscathed and Tyrion… Tyrion had used the distraction provided by the dragon to win the Trial by Combat, killing Sir Payne quite dead.

It was later that night that Littlefinger had come for her. He'd brought honeyed words and men, but Sansa would probably not have listened to the former if it were not for the latter. She could read a situation pretty well these days though, and the fact that he'd brought an armed guard with him told Sansa that even if she tried to put up a fuss, he was taking her rather she liked it or not.

Better to be leashed than caged, Sansa had ultimately decided. Allowing Littlefinger to take her from the Capital with concerns of her safety, the idea that the dragon might come back and take her next, Sansa had found herself very quickly loaded onto his boat and headed up towards the Vale without much protest. What was the point? Protest would get her nowhere. Obedience… she could work with obedience. She'd been doing it all her life.

Even still, Sansa had some idea of what Littlefinger wanted of her, and it turned her stomach something furious. The constant comments about her mother and his love for her made it abundantly clear that Sansa was his next best chance. Unlike honorable Tyrion who was unwilling to touch an unwilling lady, Petyr Baelish was a wolf in sheep's clothing. His smiles hid a vicious tint to them, and Sansa knew that while he was trying to woo her for now, courting her in his own perverse, disgusting way, she would eventually have to reciprocate, or things would turn bad for her.

Mentally, the red head was already preparing herself for that eventuality. Knowing it was just around the corner did not make her feel any better, but at the very least, Sansa would be ready for it. She refused to allow herself to continue being surprised by the depravity of those around her, by the greed and the lust for power that each and every person, no matter how much they tried to hide it, shared.

She-

"Lady Sansa! Why don't you come down from there! There was something I wished to discuss with you!"

Thoughts cut off by Littlefinger's voice once more, Sansa slides her gaze down to him to find he's no longer chatting with the first mate, and instead is smiling up at her. Pushing off the railing, Sansa prepares to make her way down to the deck, despite the fact that she's still working on her sea legs, at least a little bit. But before she can reach the stairs that will take her into Petyr Baelish' waiting arms, a loud, now-familiar roar splits the air, followed by a wave that crashes against the side of the ship, causing Sansa to stumble to the side and grab onto the railing she just let go of for support.

It's in that moment that the dragon returns, his wing beat having caused the wave and his sudden presence on the ship giving no one any time whatsoever to react. Whoever was up in the crow's nest must have been looking the other way, or they were otherwise terrible at their job. Because the massive black dragon that had interrupted a wedding and an execution already, is suddenly on the ship, right in front of a cowering Petyr Baelish.

Sansa barely has time to take this in, the view of Littlefinger with his hands raised and terror in his eyes before the massive black dragon, before said creature's neck distends and it lunges it's head forward, taking Lord Petyr Baelish into its jaws and snapping him in two, before tossing both halves of his body up into the air and letting them fall down into its throat, roasted by a plume of dragon fire that erupts a moment before.

The crew is panicking, of course. Some are already jumping overboard, while others have run below deck to cower in fear. Sansa can feel it, that the ship is likely already sinking, and while a very select few of the crew are actually able to master themselves enough to try and stop it, she knows they aren't likely to succeed. Especially not when the next thing the dragon does is wrap his jaws around the central mast and snap it just as cleanly in half as he did Littlefinger, letting the sails fall onto the deck and halfway off the boat besides.

Still, land isn't that far away, perhaps a couple hours swim. Some of them might make it. They are sailors after all. Sansa though… Sansa knows she won't. She barely even knows how to swim. Besides… the dragon is staring right at her now, and she knows that even if she jumped, it would not leave her to drown. No, that is not to be her fate.

Slowly, pushing herself off the rail a second time, Sansa straightens to her full height. The somewhat warm coat that Petyr had given her during their flight from King's Landing, Sansa lets fall from her shoulders, leaving her dressed in nothing but a nightgown, the same nightgown she'd been wearing when Petyr had spirited her away.

Littlefinger had liked it, she'd seen it in the lecherous man's eyes, so she hadn't even entertained the idea of asking to be allowed to change. Not least of which because she suspected not a single man, Little finger or his guards, would have left the room while she did so. Regardless, Sansa Stark is still a Lady of the North, regardless of what has happened to her.

Stepping down the stairs towards the deck and the dragon that currently sits upon it, Sansa takes the wooden steps one by one, making sure to always keep a hand on the railing for support. The ship is already beginning to list a little to one side, and the water is starting to slosh up onto the deck when Sansa's feet finally touch it.

She ignores this and continues walking towards the dragon, coming within reach of him, waiting for him to snatch her up as he did Margaery Tyrell and Cersei Lannister. Instead, as he watches her with that massive yellow eye, the big black dragon slowly lowers his left side to her, offering her quite pointedly the opportunity to climb up onto his back. Sansa stares blankly at this, not quite understanding WHY for a long moment. But then the ship tremors, and she's reminded that the whole thing is sinking.

It takes some doing, and she has to avoid plenty of large spiky protrusions coming off of the scaled beast's body, but eventually Sansa makes it up onto the creature, finding a somewhat safe place to sit between two of it's larger back-spikes. As she nestles herself in, grimacing slightly at how thin her nightgown feels between her otherwise naked body and the dragon's hard back, she grabs hold of whatever she can.

Then, the dragon speaks to her. Or, not really speaks… but she understands what it's trying to tell her through the burst of desire and emotion it pushes at her. Hang on. She'll have to hang on. Swallowing hard, Sansa makes sure her grip is as strong as it can be, using both her thighs and her hands to hold onto the dragon she's currently riding atop. Only once it feels this does the great black beast push off of the deck of the ship.

His exit does what his entrance failed to fully accomplish, and Sansa watches as the boat capsizes beneath them, flipped over by the great gusts of wind caused by his wings. It and the people in the water around it begin to grow smaller and smaller as the dragon carries her off, and Sansa is soon left to tuck herself in and close her eyes, the wind making them water too much for her to try to keep looking around.

Whatever the fate of Lady Tyrell and the Queen Mother… Sansa supposed she would learn firsthand what those were, soon enough.

-x-X-x-

As Daenerys sits on her throne, she stares at the young woman kneeling before her in nothing but a nightgown, her lips thinned out. To be perfectly honest, she almost wants to pity the girl for nothing more than how pathetic she currently looks. At the same time, she can't help but be annoyed that Drogon has brought yet ANOTHER woman back to Dragonstone.

Not that she's all that dissatisfied with what he's done with Margery Tyrell and Cersei Lannister. The latter most of all. Given what Daenerys has been hearing from her spies, Cersei Lannister deserves every last moment of the rest of her life as Drogon's toy. Honestly, she probably deserves worse than that, but Myrcella had been growing on Daenerys, and the young Baratheon girl (who apparently wasn't even likely Baratheon, but the product of incest) had been all too eager to introduce her mother to a life of worshipping Drogon.

Meanwhile, Margaery Tyrell wasn't quite as… broken as Cersei, but Daenerys was at least confident that the young woman wouldn't cause problems. She was also confident that this new arrival wouldn't either, but that didn't make her any happier about it.

"You are Sansa Stark."

It's less of a question and more of a statement, but the red head nods all the same, eyes lowered to the floor.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And do you know who I am?"

There's a brief pause as Sansa collects herself, and then…

"You are Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Your Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm… and Mother of Dragons?"

She sounds a little unsure of that last bit, but then, she'd trailed off at the end. And to be fair, she hadn't gotten all of Daenerys' titles perfectly right. But the Targaryen woman appreciated the effort all the same. Which was likely the point. The girl was trying to suck up to her. Daenerys wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that.

"Do you know why you are here?"

Another pause, but this time the answer, when it does come, is much shorter and more succinct.

"No, Your Grace."

Daenerys nods at that. Then, she looks to Drogon. She doesn't have to say anything, their connection goes much deeper than that, but even still, when he responds to her unspoken words, he does so 'loud enough' that the Stark girl hears it as well, jumping a bit as she feels what Drogon is conveying to both her and Daenerys.

"… I see."

Sansa Stark is no longer staring at the ground. Now she's looking back at Drogon, eyes wide. Whether it's because of the fact that he's suddenly speaking, or because he has such a high opinion of her, Daenerys does not know. She can only read the mind of one being in this room, and only when he lets her know his thoughts.

"My son believes that you and I are alike. He names you a survivor, much like me."

Sansa whips her head around, looking at the Queen with those same wide eyes, before seeming to realize what she's doing and averting her gaze again.

"I… I know not what he means, Your Grace. I am a foolish, weak girl. I always have been."

And the sad thing is, Daenerys can tell Sansa actually believes that. It makes it all the harder to dislike the girl, because Drogon is right. She does see herself in the Stark woman. She sees herself in the way Sansa hides her true emotions behind a false shell, she sees herself in the way Sansa denigrates herself, rather than speaking on her virtues.

This is no Margaery Tyrell, and certainly no Cersei Lannister. Nostrils flaring, Daenerys lets out an explosion of hot air.

"Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell… will you pledge your fealty to me? Will you forsake all other Kings and Queens, all other masters, and swear loyalty to me here and now, before the eyes of Drogon and the many souls that have passed through these halls?"

From the moment that Daenerys titled her Lady of Winterfell, Sansa Stark's eyes have been on her again, but this time in a much different way. The other woman's gaze is calculating now, assessing. And once more, in this too, Daenerys sees herself. She sees the woman she's become in Sansa Stark, sees some of the fire and the metal that Daenerys has had to gird herself to survive since the deaths of her brother and Drogo. Drogon is right… she and Sansa Stark are more alike than she'd care to admit.

For a brief second, Sansa pauses. When she answers, it is not with immediate allegiance, but instead the truth as she sees it, which truth be told, Daenerys appreciates.

"I am not Lady of Winterfell, Your Grace. I doubt that they would accept me either. The things I've done, that I've had to condone…"

Daenerys just smiles slightly at that, and gestures pointedly to the great black beast in the room.

"I have dragons, Lady Stark."

Drogon's amusement washes over them both, and for the briefest of moments, Sansa smiles in response. The Stark girl has a nice smile, Daenerys can't help but thinking, but it's gone just as quickly as it showed up. She bows her head for a moment, and then begins to speak.

"I, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell pledge myself to you, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. I am your humble servant, until the day I die, in whatever form that may take."

Daenerys smiles, and though it's not necessarily a warm smile, it's still a smile as she gestures with one hand.

"Then rise, my Warden of the North."

Sansa Stark's stormy blue eyes go wider still at that, and as she gets to her feet, she opens her mouth to speak, clearly in shock. But before she can say a word, there's a sudden noise from behind her, something between a confused growl and a grunt. As the Lady Stark, newly minted Warden of the North whirls about, Daenerys also finds her eyes drawn past the Stark girl to where Drogon was prowling. Then, the Targaryen Queen is coming out of her throne and moving down the steps, jaw dropping open as worry fills her gaze.

"Drogon? Drogon?!"

But her largest son does not respond, even as he continues to writhe and shift and… shrink? At first, his massive form is doing untold damage to the walls around him, but thankfully, Dragonstone was made with dragons in mind, so the furrows he carves out into the rock do not bring the entire place down on their heads. But then, he starts to change and grow smaller, and all Daenerys can do is watch on the same as Sansa, eyes wide as her beloved dragon becomes… a man.

He ends up on his hands and knees, and even in his new form, he still has horns atop his head, a pair of wings folded along his back, and a large, thick tail that flicks this way and that behind him. His hands are clawed, and when he looks up, Daenerys finds herself staring into those same yellow eyes as before, just on a much smaller scale. But while his skin is a greyish black, his facial structure is most certainly that of a man. While his teeth are all still razor sharp, they are the size of human teeth, and so is his lips, his nose.

It's still Drogon. Daenerys can't be sure how she knows it, but she does. Slowly, he rises to his feet, staring down at himself in wonder. Of course, this exposes the rest of him as well. Beyond his horns, wing, and tail, Drogon has black scales scattered across his body. Most of it is centered on his chest, but there's some going down his arms and legs as well.

However, he's not wearing any clothing, and his cock… his cock is very much exposed. Daenerys stares at it, because though she's very familiar with Drogon's length, she's never seen it like this before, attached to the body of a man, albeit with draconic features galore. Drogon's member is not a man's member, at least, it's not what she remembers from Drogo, that's for sure. It's still ridged and altogether draconic, the cock she's been… well, worshipping for quite some time now.

But it's much more manageable. Of late, Daenerys has not been able to handle Drogon's full size. Not even with all of the experience she's had as he's grown up at her side. She's been forced to pleasure him with her tongue and mouth, her hands and her body… but not in the way she would prefer, with every last bit of him inside of her. Now… now his cock, even as it hangs seemingly soft between his humanoid legs, is still more than large enough to satisfy her… but also capable of going INSIDE of her.

It takes the Targaryen Queen a moment to shake herself of such thoughts, because really, how Drogon's new dick size will feel buried inside of her aching quim is NOT the most important thing in this moment.

"Drogon? What… what's happened to you?"

Her beloved son blinks and looks up from his clawed hands, which he'd been staring at in wonder, to make eye contact with her. Daenerys shivers under that gaze, and she shivers even more when his lips curl up into a smile that causes her heart to flutter.

-x-X-x-

I hadn't seen it coming. Not at all. One moment, Daenerys had been taking my advice and convincing Sansa to be her pawn in the North (no Kingship for you Jon, so sorry!) and the next, right as Sansa finished swearing her fealty, I had begun to experience a… change. That was really the only way I could describe it, because truth be told, I had no idea what was going on at first.

It didn't hurt, or anything like that. It just… it felt weird, okay? The only warning I'd gotten was some sort of sense that I'd reached a peak within myself, that I'd completed the next stage in my development by taking Sansa Stark. And then every last inch of my body had been itchy, for lack of a better word. And then… then I'd begun shrinking.

I'd ended up on my hands and knees, not quite understanding what the hell that even meant at first. Having hands again, even clawed ones, was a novelty that took a while to sink in. But slowly but surely, the realization that I'd just shifted into a more human-like figure began to hit me. And then Daenerys spoke up, my mother's voice so concerned, and I'd looked up to find both her and Sansa staring at me in wide-eyed shock.

Standing had been an interesting experience. It actually hadn't really been THAT long since I'd last been human. Maybe half a year? Well, that actually was a long time, but it was kind of like riding a bike! I'd gotten to my feet with minor difficult, and stared down at myself, taking in my new appearance. The scales and the flesh interwove across my body, leaving me distinctly inhuman, but still standing on two legs.

And then my mother asked that fateful question.

"Drogon? What… what's happened to you?"

Lifting my gaze to meet hers, I can't help but smile. Because even without trying, I know that I can do it. So, I open my mouth… and I speak.

"Mother. I've been waiting so long to be able to talk to you in your tongue."

Daenerys' eyes bulge and I just grin and nod… and then Sansa Stark falls to the ground in a heap, fainting on the spot and sort of ruining the whole moment. But then, to be fair I had carried her across the ocean on my back wearing nothing but her nightgown, before presenting her to Daenerys for interrogation and judgment. So, ya know… probably my fault.

Mother and I move forward as one to help the downed girl, but even as we do, my mind is miles away. Reaching within myself, I can tell immediately that the change isn't permanent. This new form of mine is not the only form I can take. Becoming a massive, black 'fuck you' dragon is still very much in my wheelhouse. Still, I couldn't help but be giddy with excitement. Because after all…

This changes everything.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out H entai-Foundry dot com and Questionable Questing dot com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.**

 **If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on P atreon. com (slash) Cambrian**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hm, so I'm thinking next chapter will certainly be Daenerys arriving at King's Landing, and given the state of things there, I figure Tommen would just surrender the throne to her.**

 **Anyone think that's incorrect, and if so, why or who would try to make him fight her, her army, and her dragons?**

 **Probably follow up that scene with more sexy times... what character combo would you guys like to see out of the girls we've already seen join Drogon's harem so far?**

 **-x-X-x-**

"Drogon… you're gorgeous…"

We'd taken a small break from my new transformation in order to carry dear Sansa Stark from the throne room floor to a bed in an opulent set of guest quarters, the kind of chambers reserved for visiting dignitaries… which, now that Daenerys had declared Sansa her Warden of the North, was exactly what she now was.

But we'd not actually gotten all the way out of said quarters before Daenerys' curiosity had finally gotten the better of her. Just as I was turning away from putting Sansa to bed, my mother and Queen's hand had splayed out across my chest and firmly pushed me back. Obviously, I didn't actually feel much of anything in the way of force, I was who I was, and she was… well, she was human.

Still, I wasn't inclined to make that readily apparent, so I went along with it and let out a soft grunt as I sat back on the edge of the bed. My large leathery wings lay folded behind me, but luckily Sansa did not wake, even as she curled into the extra set of 'blankets'. Once she had me right where she wanted me, Daenerys wasted no time in running her hands across my body.

My mother seemed altogether enamored with my form, while I? I was taking stock, but that didn't mean I was ignoring the gorgeous silver-haired woman before me. And she was all woman now. To think, I'd gotten to watch as Daenerys grew up. In a way, I'd been present for her rebirth, just as she'd been present for my birth.

She was no longer that naked girl I'd met in the fires of her husband's funeral pyre though. She was a full-grown woman, a Queen in fact. And she'd finally made it home. There were still the White Walkers to deal with, of course, the Night King and his army of undead heading down towards the wall. But luckily for my beloved mother, I had all the foreknowledge in the world, and some plans for what to do with it.

Though, if I was being totally honest, I hadn't planned for this. Oh sure, I'd felt it, as I grew. I hadn't quite understood what was happening, but I'd known something was coming. There was no denying that gathering up women and adding them to my hoard, along with plenty of gold and treasure… it was doing something to me. It was changing me.

Now, I had a better understanding of what that meant. I was evolving, in a way. Planetos had the dumb kind of dragons, from everything I'd seen and read from both the show and the books. The original Drogon and his siblings were nothing more than winged beasts capable of bonding with their 'mother' and being her instruments of war, but not of independent thought, that was for sure.

But I was different. I had always been different. I was no winged beast. I was no animal, not like my siblings. I was a human mind in a dragon's body, and yet, I'd thought that was all. But no, it was quickly becoming obvious that I had far more potential than I'd initially realized. Had it started when I ate the warlock back in Qarth? Or had that simply been a misleading smokescreen. Had I fooled myself into thinking that eating his crispy flesh was what caused me to start gaining powers like I had now?

What came first? The evolution, or the warlock? In the end, it didn't really matter, did it? What mattered was the here and now, and now that I was here, I had to adapt. Though, to be fair, that seemed to be exactly what I was doing. I could feel it, within me. I could feel the power filling my veins, just wanting to burst out.

This transformation of mine, it was in no way permanent. I could return to my natural form at any time if I chose to do so, though obviously I wasn't going to do that NOW when I was in a room small enough to crush not only me but the two women I was with as well. And wasn't that nice? It had been quite a while now since I'd been small enough to fit through a doorway, let alone fit IN a set of opulent chambers as gorgeous as these.

Quite a while since I'd been able to sleep in a bed like the one, I was sat on now. Not that I minded my gold pile all that much, it felt good to my larger, natural form. Even still, I was only here now because I'd gained this transformation. The uses for such a form were endless… not the least because of my new mouth, allowing me to finally give voice to my intelligence.

Though, I wasn't making much use of it right now, now was I? I open my lips to say something, rows of sharp teeth displayed inside, but before I can do so, a pair of small hands close around my draconic cock, causing me to look down in surprise. At some point, Daenerys has grown tired of studying my new form. I'd been aware of her hands wandering over my body, to be clear. She'd seemed fascinated by the way my scales and skin melded together now.

But I'd been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed her attention eventually fixating upon my phallus, the thick ridged dick hanging between my legs. It seemed the Queen of Westeros was going to have her way with me. Daenerys Targaryen kneels between my legs, still looking oh so small in comparison to my larger, humanoid figure. But now it's the smallness of a woman to a man, rather than a human to a full-grown dragon.

The transition is the same for my cock, in all honesty. I'd known for a while now that I'd grown too big for any woman to properly take me in that way. Even for all my efforts to adjust my mother to my cock, there came a point where my member was the size of her entire body. She'd been forced to use said body to pleasure me for these last several months. Now that she could actually take me in between her lips again, Daenerys seemed quite eager to go so.

Looking down into my mother's violet eyes as she sucks on my ridged, draconic cock, I can't help but smile, reaching out to brush my knuckles across her cheek.

-x-X-x-

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen was at a loss for words, if she was being honest. Beyond the obvious, declaring her beloved son beautiful in his new form, she'd not been sure what to say. So, she hadn't said anything, even after they'd put Lady Stark to bed. She'd not had the words to explain her… awe. He was magnificent. There was no other word for it.

To be fair, he'd been magnificent before. Her beloved Drogon, outgrowing everything. She'd suspected that soon enough, he would be bigger than the entire fucking castle. She'd wondered if there would come a point where it might no longer even be viable to ride him safely, merely because he would no longer be able to feel her as anything more than an ant on his back.

These had been worries that had been keeping Daenerys up at night for weeks now, as she realized that Drogon was growing larger and larger, as she wondered just when he would stop. Soon, he would have gone beyond even what she'd heard growing up of Balerion the Black Dread from her brother. Now though… now he was in this new form. He was almost human… but at the same time, obviously not. If it weren't for the wings, the scales and the teeth and the claws would have told her that much. This was not a man… this was still a dragon.

His cock was that of a dragon as well, even as the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms took his erection into her mouth, her jaw stretching wide to accommodate his ridged member. It was still distinctly draconic, nothing like her dearly departed husband's. With ridges and a tapered tip and altogether an edged, segmented appearance, there was no denying that this was a dragon's cock.

But it was a dragon's cock that SHE could actually handle. And handle it Daenerys was, with gusto. It hadn't been that long since she'd tasted Drogon's cum or anything, to be fair. She'd still made a point of pleasuring him multiple times a day, though at this point her most beloved son had built up a harem of beauties that had made her feel rather useless, and more than jealous. When it'd just been her and Missandei, it was different. But now, she felt almost like she'd been replaced.

That was just her own insecurities rearing their ugly heads though. Daenerys knew deep down that she hadn't truly been replaced. She was still Queen, after all. She was still Mother of Dragons. More importantly, she was still Drogon's mother, his first woman. Daenerys would never ever let that be taken from her, and Drogon clearly had no intention of giving it away. She was always welcome in his lair, always allowed to take her pleasure from him. She and Missandei had had to tag team his gargantuan member the last few times though, and it'd been hard to coax him to release without being able to envelope him in one of her holes.

Even still, she'd kept up in getting her fill of Drogon's cum. It'd just been a long time since she'd gotten it directly from the source. These days, it was more likely that she and Missandei would end up licking and slurping it up off each other. But no more. Now… now Daenerys COULD take it right from the source. And as she looks up into her Drogon's yellow eyes, her mouth stuffed full of his cock, she can tell he's getting close.

She wants it. She wants it all. Speeding up her pace, bobbing up and down on his draconic, ridged member, Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of Westeros, fellates her beloved son right to release, before happily drinking down the torrent of seed that comes from him as he groans in pleasure. Her hands clutch at his scaled legs as she swallows his white, hot cum, and while some of it sticks a bit in her throat, Daenerys fights her way through it, making sure to let not even a single drop free of her thirsty maw.

Drogon's ejaculate is as delicious as ever, suffusing Daenerys with a warmth that makes her smile, her eyes drifting shut as she pulls back and lets his cock pop free of her lips. His seed settles in her belly, and she feels so damn hot… there's no denying what's to come next. She needs this. She needs HIM… and she WILL have him. She will-

"What… what happened? A-Ah, uhm… your majesty?"

Daenerys pops up from her kneeling position between Drogon's legs just as the transformed dragon looks to his side to see that Sansa Stark has woken up and is staring at them both with wide eyes and a flushed expression on her face.

Oh right… she'd forgotten that the red head was here. Staring at her for a moment, Daenerys can't help the wicked smile that spreads across her face. She would be a liar if she tried to claim that she didn't still feel something akin to anger and hatred over how the Starks had sided against her family during her father's rebellion.

There was no denying that Aerys had been mad, not now that she knew what she knew from those who had become her allies… but it still ached a bit, to know that her entire life had been turned upside down because of the Baratheons and the Starks. Still, if she could forgive Myrcella Baratheon for her father's trespasses, then she could forgive Sansa Stark.

That didn't mean she couldn't take her pound of flesh in other ways, though…

-x-X-x-

Sansa had woken up to the sounds of gagging and gurgling. It had confused her for a moment, as had opening her eyes to find herself staring at a ceiling high over head that was not the throne room she'd been stood in when last she was conscious. And this was not the floor either, she'd realized after a moment of shifting about to realize she was in a very comfortable bed.

Though, there was something heavier than blankets or furs laid across her lower-half. Slowly lifting herself up onto her elbows, Sansa blinked rapidly as she took in the sight before her. It took longer than she would have liked to admit to realize that she was staring at the back profile of the humanoid dragon who she'd seen in the throne room. This was… this was the same massive black dragon that had eaten Littlefinger, sunk his ship, and then flown her across an ocean to bring her to his mother, wasn't it?

By that point, the gurgling and gagging had turned to gulping, and Sansa was wondering what she was hearing, because it sounded like it was coming from the dragon… human thing's crotch, and that was odd, right?

"What… what happened? A-Ah, uhm… your majesty?"

Surely the Queen was around here somewhere, right? But Sansa was NOT expecting Daenerys to pop up from in front of the dragon, a surprised look on her face and just a smidge of white coming off the corner of her mouth. Their eyes meet, and they stare at each other for a long moment… and then the Targaryen Queen's lips curl into a wicked smile.

"Lady Stark… I think it's time to discuss your position in my court."

Sansa blinks rapidly at that. Or more accurately, she blinks rapidly at the follow up action Daenerys takes, which is to slip her beautiful dress off her shoulders, one at a time, letting it flow down off of her body, revealing the naked flesh beneath. Sansa had seen other women nude before, to be fair. But… never anyone so beautiful. And she hadn't… she didn't think that this was proper in any way shape or form.

Especially not when Daenerys prodded Drogon off of the bed and then pulled back the blankets covering Sansa before climbing on. The nightgown that she was still wearing suddenly felt even more inadequate than it had when she'd been riding on the black dragon's back on the way here. As Daenerys prowls up to her, crawling until she's on top of her, all Sansa can do is shrink back and blush.

"I-I'm not sure I understand, your grace."

"That's alright. You don't need to understand. Just enjoy."

And then Daenerys' lips are on Sansa's, and the two of them are kissing, much to the red head's utter shock and confusion. This… this is not something that has ever happened to her before. Sansa Stark has been through a LOT since her father made the ill-fated decision to betroth her to Joffrey and take most of the family south with him. She's seen men die, she's been beaten and hurt. She's never been raped, thankfully, but that didn't stop though who had physically abused her from touching her inappropriately as well.

And yet, that had always been men who'd stolen kisses here and there, smashing their rough mouths, usually framed by beards or some stubble against her soft lips, making a point to nibble at them, to bite at them. Sansa had born with it, but she'd never ever enjoyed it. She'd simply put on a mask and accepted what was being done to her.

This though, none of what she'd been through had prepared her for this. To have a gorgeous naked Targaryen hovering over her, kissing her most tenderly, their lips moving together in something of an exotic, erotic dance, rather than an assault on her very person as every kiss she'd ever had before this had been. It didn't help that there was a taste on Daenerys' lips and tongue that Sansa couldn't quite place, a taste that made her feel altogether warm and satisfied, like the freshest of lemon cakes.

Sansa whimpers beneath the Targaryen Queen, wiggling and writhing. This had to be against the teachings of the Seven, right? She couldn't… she couldn't possibly be involved in such lewd behavior. And yet, if this was wrong, if this was something bad… why did it feel good? She'd been hurt so much for so long, and by so-called devout followers of the Seven at that. If this was wrong… Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to be right, anymore.

Kissing Daenerys back is an impulsive decision, but once she starts, Sansa finds she can't stop. Her and the Targaryen Queen make out for what feels like an eternity, and in the meantime, Daenerys seems insistent on getting access to every last bit of Sansa's body. Her nightgown ends up hiked up past her waist first, and while Daenerys pushes a hand up underneath it to gently knead a breast, it's the hand she puts between Sansa's legs that really gets the red head's attention.

She's never been touched down there before, and certainly not by another woman. But when Daenerys does it… it feels good. Sansa doesn't mind it all that much, even if it does provoke strange feelings within her. She wants more… she wants Daenerys to go further. And further the Targaryen Queen goes. Fingers dip inside of Sansa's lower lips, pushing past her folds, and all the inexperienced young maiden can do is moan into Daenerys' mouth as the Queen continues to kiss her.

Her hips buck upwards instinctively, and her hands claw at the bedding she's laid upon, gripping it tightly. Daenerys plays her like a finely tuned instrument, and Sansa produces a melody that eventually reaches a crescendo as she cries out, head tilting back and back arching from the climax that subsequently tears through her frame. Her body bucks and spasms on the Targaryen Queen's fingers, before Sansa inevitably collapses backwards.

She's still trying to recover, still trying to catch her breath when Daenerys begins to pull her nightgown all the way over her head. Blushing up a storm but in no real position to resist, the red head lets it happen, even lifting her arms to help. As soon as the sheer, thin garment is off of her, the Targaryen Queen tosses it away and then falls upon Sansa's completely unprotected, nubile flesh once more.

Was this what her service to Daenerys Stormborn was going to be? As the gorgeous violet-eyed woman lavishes praise upon Sansa's breasts, groping and squeezing them, while at the same time lapping and nibbling at them, the young Stark girl can't quite bring herself to mind all that much. If this is what Daenerys requires of her… t-then so be it.

Of course, that's right up until the Targaryen Queen abruptly flips them both over, and Sansa finds herself laid out on top of Daenerys, even as the other woman wraps her arms around her, hooking her feet on Sansa's ankles and spreading her legs wide. Completely exposed now, Sansa finds herself face to face with the transformed dragon that brought her here to this island in the first place. Drogon is watching her and Daenerys… and he's got his cock in hand, stroking it as it points directly at her.

"Drogon… she's ready for you."

Sansa whimpers as Daenerys' words ghost past her ear, the Queen's fingers still playing with her admittedly wet folds. Squirming a bit as Drogon approaches, the Stark girl bites her lower lip before speaking.

"W-Wait! I… I…"

Both Daenerys and her dragon turned humanoid creature pause at that, at least. Sansa is grateful, because the more she stares at Drogon's c-cock, the more fearful she becomes.

"S-Surely… surely my Queen would prefer I keep my maidenhood intact for whoever she chooses to, um… marry me off to?"

It's not exactly something Sansa is looking forward to, being married to another man without a say in the matter like she was to Tyrion Lannister. But at the very least, Tyrion never touched her. And hopefully Daenerys will find her a good match. She's expecting it, it's the way of things after all. What she's NOT expecting is laughter from the Targaryen Queen.

"Lady Stark… what part of Warden of the North did you not understand? You may marry if you like, but I will not choose your husband for you. And you certainly will not have to go to your wedding bed a maiden. You are the future of House Stark. Whatever man eventually marries you and gives you children will be expected to be subservient to you, not the other way around."

She doesn't really understand what Daenerys is saying, initially. It's rather hard to process such strange ideas, after spending a lifetime being groomed as nothing more than a wife to some Lord… or as the case might have been in a different sort of world, to a Prince and eventually a King. She might have been Queen, if Joffrey wasn't so awful, if the Lannisters weren't all monsters.

Still, the very idea of her being Lady of Winterfell, Warden of the North… it IS an odd one. But now Drogon's ridged cock is pressing against her folds, and Sansa is whimpering, unsure of what to do now. She's run out of excuses. Surprisingly though, the transformed dragon stops, and gives her a surprisingly kind smile as he rests a clawed hand gently against her cheek.

"It's alright. We'll take it slow."

Leave it to the inhuman creature to be kinder and gentler with her than most of the human men she'd ever known in her life. Sansa bites her lower lip, but in the end, she just nods, accepting his words as truth. She has no other choice, not with Daenerys holding her tight and spreading her pussy lips wide with two fingers. She's altogether exposed… but as Drogon sinks his member into her depths, he goes slowly, taking his time and making sure not to hurt her too much.

He still tears her maidenhood, of course. As she loses her virginity, Sansa cries out. But as if waiting for this moment, Daenerys pinches one of her nipples and flicks at the small nub above her slit with her thumb at the same time. The pleasure that accompanies these two motions is unexpected, and her pained cry is followed up with a throaty moan. Said moan is then swallowed by Drogon kissing her.

If you'd told Sansa Stark that she would be kissed by a dragon who'd become something of a man, she would never have believed you. But then, if you'd told an even earlier version of Sansa Stark that her dear Joffrey would betray her and have her father executed right before her eyes… well, needless to say, Sansa was used to surprises at this point. She just wasn't used to enjoying them quite so much.

And she was definitely enjoying this. Drogon waits for a moment after the initial push inside of her, and only starts moving again when he's sure she's ready. Then… he fucks her. It's not lovemaking, as much as Sansa might have wanted it to be. He's still a dragon, and she doesn't imagine he knows the meaning of taking things slow for anything longer than short periods of time. Drogon starts off slow, sure, allowing her to adjust properly… but then he begins to thrust.

But it's alright, because Daenerys is there the entire time. Laid out beneath her, the Targaryen Queen never stops whispering sweet nothings into Sansa's ear, she never stops caressing Sansa's breasts, she never stops playing with Sansa's clit. Daenerys seems to know exactly what the Stark girl needs right now, and she gives it to her.

Sansa, meanwhile, is being attacked from all sides. She can't keep up, not with how Drogon's ridged, draconic length feels buried in her stretched out virgin cunt, or with how Daenerys' hands feel, roaming up and down her writhing, sweaty body. She's overwhelmed, there's no other way to describe it, and it's beyond anything she could ever have imagined.

Crying out, Sansa climaxes around Drogon's cock. The pleasure is too great for her not to experience an orgasm or two as the transformed dragon fucks her atop his mother, atop her new Queen. She's pledged herself to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen after all… service to her Queen might not be exactly what Sansa was expecting, sure, but she can work with it.

And when Drogon finally cums… the red head sees stars. His seed fills her, painting her insides, and Sansa's eyes nearly bulge out of her skull as she nearly bites down on her tongue in surprise. It feels so good… it feels so WARM. Sticky, hot semen coats her inner walls and Sansa has never felt more satisfied, more fulfilled, in her entire time. It's as if she's had an awakening. Is it always like this? Does all sex feel this amazing?

"Heh, with Drogon, it is. But take it from me, Lady Stark… ONLY Drogon can make you feel THIS good."

She hadn't realized she spoke out loud until Daenerys giggled and gave her an answer. Blushing, Sansa almost wants to hide her face in her hands. But there'd be no point, not really. Every other part of her is exposed, why bother with being embarrassed, right? Licking her lips, Sansa looks up into Drogon's draconic golden eyes. Then, she looks back at the smiling face of her new Queen.

Finally, hesitantly, but no less needily, Sansa speaks.

"M-More?"

They both laugh at her a little for that, Drogon with a deep chuckle, and Daenerys with a light, soft giggle. But Sansa doesn't mind, because once they're done laughing, they give her exactly what she's asked for. And for the first time in a long time, Lady Sansa Stark is happy. She's content, she's satisfied. She's finally… safe, in good company. The world can't hurt her here. Neither her Queen nor the Queen's dragon will allow it. Sansa believes this, with every fiber of her being.

 **-x-X-x-**

 **If you'd like to read more of my work not seen on this website, check out H entai-Foundry dot com and Questionable Questing dot com! I'm known as 'Cambrian' on those websites.**

 **If you'd like to contribute to funding my writing at all, check me out on P atreon. com (slash) Cambrian**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

Winging over King's Landing in my true form was… certainly an experience, though not a particularly new one for me. Of course, before I'd had to fly up high enough that no one could see me, to avoid being shot through the damn heart by a Scorpion or the like. I'd flown above the cloud cover, marked out my target, and then swooped down to wreak havoc and steal a 'maiden' before anyone had time to react.

Did it first at the Purple Wedding, and then second at the Execution Block. Now though… there was no need for avoiding Westerosi Ballista. Not that I wasn't keeping an eye out, but the flags over the Red Keep were a stark white, and at this point, everyone in the Realm knew that King Tommen Baratheon, First of His Name, had graciously accepted the offer to surrender and abdicate to Daenerys that had come via letter.

The fleet in the harbor was Daenerys' fleet, and my two brothers winged out over the city as well, flying this way and that as Unsullied marched through the streets of King's Landing for the first time in known history, led by a Targaryen Queen. That was probably also a big first. Heh, it'd taken quite a bit to influence Dany into accepting the idea of poor little Tommen getting to abdicate, rather than simply removing his head. Though, not as much as one would have expected.

I figured constant exposure to Myrcella, and my telling her that the boy-king was more boy than king had softened her heart to the idea. Which truth be told; I was grateful for. I had a bit of a soft spot for Myrcella and Tommen, at the end of the day. They had not deserved their fates, and in a place like Westeros during this age, that in and of itself was a rarity. Practically everyone brought their own demise upon themselves in some way, even the so-called 'good guys'.

Every dead Stark had played a part in their own gruesome deaths, at the end of the day. From Eddard Stark taking half of his family south in the first place to try and play a game he was ill-accustomed to, to Catelyn Stark selling her son, the King in the North to a rat without consulting him, and even Robb not sucking it up and marrying the Frey girl, thinking with his loins instead of what had been, up until that point, a sharp tactical mind.

And that was just the examples from the 'good guy' family of Westeros. Many of the other deaths across the continent had been entirely deserved. Though I supposed I disrupted a few of those deaths in favor of ending their lives early. Stannis, Tywin, Mace… I'd made a habit of eating lordly men since arriving in Westeros. I wondered if any more would cleanse my palate before the day was done.

Ah, but it was starting. Down below, out in the open, Daenerys and her party were meeting with Tommen and his party. There was a reason this encounter was not taking place within the Red Keep, and that reason was me. Though it offered no end of amusement to me that they'd had to use the spot where the Purple Wedding took place in order to accommodate Daenerys.

Though it was all cleaned up now, it was the same plaza where Joffrey had choked to death on poison, and where I'd swallowed Tywin Lannister whole, and made off with Margaery Tyrell. I could only imagine how it felt to be back there for the opposing side of this equation, especially with not just me, but all three of Daenerys' dragons flying overhead.

Still, it was one thing for us to be overhead. It was another entirely to get a nice, long look at us. Grinning wickedly, showing off rows upon rows of massive dragon teeth, I prepare to swoop down. It was time to join my mother and see where this little meeting went.

-x-X-x-

Just as Tommen Baratheon is reaching up to remove the quaint little crown with it's equally tiny antlers from atop his head, Drogon finally makes his appearance. Everyone on both sides startles badly when the massive black-scaled dragon comes in for an impromptu landing. Everyone save for Daenerys, of course. Her son and lover was always at the back of her mind, and in this, his intentions had already been made clear to her.

As such, when the would-be boy-king ducks back and his Kingsguard step forward with weapons drawn in defense of their liege, Daenerys just smiles and reaches out to pet a small portion of Drogon's massive, magnificent jaw as he stretches his head to the side of her, his long sinuous neck moving in an inhuman manner.

And he IS inhuman. She must remember that. Even if he can now transform into that new form of his, one that lets him walk on two legs and talk in both high Valyrian and the common tongue, he is still a dragon. A massive, hulking dragon. HER massive, hulking dragon. Said dragon snorts in the face of the Baratheon Kingsguard's futile efforts.

Amusingly enough though, it's the dwarf that steps in, his hands raised.

"Hold! Hold! What are you lot going to do with those things against a dragon as large as that? He'll barely even feel them! Stand down! If the Dragon Queen wanted us dead, we'd already be dead!"

Daenerys' eyes flicker up and down the short figure that is Tyrion Lannister. He'd already been introduced as Hand of the King, and the symbol of office stood out on his left breast, visible to all. It was somewhat amusing, all things considered. After all, she'd been told all about Tyrion Lannister's recent escapades. The man had been accused of killing Joffrey Baratheon by poison after Drogon's first visit to King's Landing. And then, at what was to be his execution, he'd survived his 'trial by combat' mostly thanks to Drogon's intervention, according to Sansa.

And now here he was, the last voice of reason in all of King's Landing. Or perhaps he was simply the last noble lord that Tommen had lying around to name Hand of the King. Regardless, while none of the boy king's Kingsguard look all that happy about it, they do stand down on Tyrion's orders. And to his credit, after a moment more of hesitation, Tommen himself creeps out from amongst them, his crown off of his head and in his hands.

He's soft. That's Daenerys' first impression of Tommen Baratheon. His face is young, and his features are soft. She has no doubt that his hands would be soft too, if she were to take them in her own. Not unlike herself, back before all this had begun, before she'd become Khaleesi, before she'd become Mother of Dragons.

That was what he reminded her of. The weak little Daenerys that had existed under her deceased brother, the Daenerys who had lived in constant fear of 'waking the Dragon'. It brings a slight smile to her face, even as the boy-king continues to make his way forward, closing the distance between them until Drogon lets out a plume of smoke in the form of a snort, bringing Tommen Baratheon to a halt.

Standing in the middle of the plaza, the boy hesitates… and then kneels, bowing his head and holding up his crown to her. Daenerys' fingers trace along Drogon's scales as the massive black dragon extends his head a few feet further past her, only to snatch the tiny crown from Tommen's hands, his proximity causing the would-be king to fall back on his ass with a yelp, eyes wide in surprise, fear… but also awe and wonder.

This is just a boy. Drogon was right in that. Tommen Baratheon is nothing more than a child, for all that he has the height of a man. Not the face of one though, no. His face is that of an infant. Regardless, Drogon draws back again… and then whips his head upwards, tossing the antlered crown into the air, where he melts it down to molten gold with a plume of dragon fire, before letting said gold slop down his throat as if it were honey.

Daenerys does not worry for him though. He is, in the end, a dragon. And dragon's do not fear heat. With that display out of the way, the beautiful Targaryen Queen steps forward, smiling benevolently as she extends her hands down to Tommen Baratheon.

"Rise, Tommen Baratheon. By bending the knee, as your ancestor did to mine so long ago, you have reaffirmed the loyalty of House Baratheon, and earned your seat as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."

It wouldn't have been Daenerys' first choice. Truth be told, the idea hadn't even crossed her mind until Drogon had suggested it. Daenerys would have just killed them all, most likely. Baratheons… the Usurper had caused everything bad that had ever happened in her life, as far as she was concerned. But Drogon had let her in on a few choice secrets.

How delicious would it be, to have House Baratheon continued by a bastard of Lannister blood? How delicious would it be, knowing that there would never be another Baratheon with actual stag blood sat upon the seat in the Stormlands? Yes, that alone made it worth it to be magnanimous in forgiving Tommen his not-father's trespasses and giving the would-be boy-king the position of Lord Paramount.

Of course, Tommen Baratheon was not the only one she had to deal with today. Even as the boy takes her hands, his face filled with shock and awe at her generosity, Daenerys is looking past him, all while pulling him to his feet with a strength that she hoped one day he would find it in himself to possess as well.

"Tyrion Lannister. Loras Tyrell. Step forward."

There's a beat of hesitation, and Daenerys sees the tightening of an old woman's face as she places a hand on what can only be Loras Tyrell's shoulder. Olenna Tyrell, it has to be, even if this is Daenerys' first time seeing the other woman in the flesh. With her granddaughter nowhere to be seen and her son burnt up and long since digested in Drogon's belly, it's obvious that the old woman is fearful for her last family member.

Cute, but Loras Tyrell IS a Knight. Daenerys isn't surprised when the pretty boy (because he IS very pretty) pulls out of his grandmother's grasp and strides forward, still managing to make it to his place a few feet away from her at the same time that Tyrion comes to a halt as well, despite the dwarf starting earlier. The two stand side by side, and Daenerys reflects that they couldn't possibly BE any different. But at the end of the day, they are what she has.

"I will not be requiring your services as my Hand, Lord Lannister."

First things first, Daenerys holds out a hand expectantly towards Tyrion. The half-man hesitates for a moment, looking around at the onlookers as if removing the symbol of his office from his chest will cause them all to fall upon him immediately, as if it offers some mystical protection that he will die without. But that only lasts for a moment at most. Reaching up, the dwarf removes the pin from his lapel and toddles forward, placing it in her outstretched palm.

Daenerys gives him a smile as she takes it and slips it away into her dress. It's not necessarily a warm smile, but it's a smile, nonetheless. Only once Tyrion is back, standing beside Loras, does she speak again, her eyes moving between the two of them.

"During the Usurper's Rebellion, House Tyrell stood with House Targaryen until the death of my father. While it could be said that they should have fought to the end in an effort to avenge their slain king, I am not so selfish as to demand restitution for such things. After all… my dragon has already taken much in the way of restitution, hasn't he? Loras Tyrell, will you bend the knee to me as your family did for generations? Will you swear loyalty to me, as Lord Paramount of the Reach?"

Loras hesitates, but Daenerys isn't that surprised. Nor is she surprised when the first thing out of his mouth is not an affirmation of loyalty.

"I would… I would ask after my sister, if it pleases your Grace."

Daenerys sees the exact moment that Tommen startles off to the side where he'd walked after she stopped paying him attention. The flush of shame that spreads across the boy's face makes it clear that he wishes he'd thought to ask the same. Before Daenerys can reply, Drogon is there again, his head sliding up beside her.

Smiling, the Targaryen Queen once again reaches out to pet at his chin.

"Your sister is alive and well, Lord Tyrell, and your commitment to family does you justice. My Drogon here took a liking to her, as he's taken a liking to many women, both young and mature in our travels. You may consider her part of my court, as well as Myrcella Baratheon."

This, at least, the Lords of Westeros can understand. Hostage taking, after all, is a time-honored tradition between the nobility. Loras' jaw clenches but he nods all the same even as he takes the knee. Meanwhile, Tommen looks relieved, off to the side.

"Then I pledge myself to you, my Queen. House Tyrell will carry out the will of House Targaryen once more in all things, as we did for hundreds of years."

Daenerys just continues to smile.

"Then rise, my Lord Paramount of the Reach."

Loras does so, and when Daenerys turns her attention onto Tyrion Lannister, he recognizes being dismissed and steps away. Meanwhile, the half-man before her raises himself up to his full diminutive height, staring back at her even with Drogon looming over him. Daenerys can't help but feel a smidge of respect for the dwarf, though given what she'd already been told of him, it was hard not to feel something positive towards Tyrion Lannister. He was not cut from the same cloth as his family.

However, that doesn't mean she's going to be all smiles and niceties, all the time.

"If you intend to ask after your sister, Lord Lannister… Drogon has taken her into his care as well."

Tyrion's mouth is open when she preempts him, and it abruptly closes as those intelligent eyes of his flash with thought, processing what she's saying. But in the end, he shakes his head.

"Ah, no, your grace. I did not intend to ask after Cersei. I would merely caution your grace to keep a close eye on her, for my sister does not take defeat lightly."

Daenerys contemplates that for a moment, memories of the former Queen with Drogon and her daughter flashing through her head. The smile that she unconsciously adopts is particularly vicious as she chuckles darkly.

"That will not be a problem, Lord Lannister."

Whatever he sees in HER eyes has Tyrion swallowing thickly as he nods and then turns to the side, looking back at the Kingsguard… or more specifically at their current Lord Commander.

"While I care little for the fate of my sister, I had hoped to ask what you intended to do with my brother, Queen Daenerys."

His brother. Daenerys' eyes slide up and meet the eyes of the man who killed her father for the first time. However, she barely sees Jaime, because rather than memories, this time around, Daenerys finds herself thinking of visions. Drogon had shown her what lay underneath the city, had shown her what her father's madness had wrought. And Aerys WAS mad, there was no doubt about that.

Before she'd even come here, Daenerys had come to a decision about Jaime Lannister and his Kingsguard. Nostrils flaring, the Dragon Queen raises herself up to her full height, placing her hand atop Drogon's scaled head as she regards the seven men in silence for a brief moment.

"I have no use for any of you. You may consider the Kingsguard disbanded, and your oaths voided. The rest of you may return to your lands or your houses or where ever it is you come from; I care not. As for Jaime Lannister… you will take the black and join the brothers of the Night's Watch in the North."

There's a brief pause as everyone holds their breath. Daenerys finds herself searching the face of Jaime Lannister, but it's not anger she sees there, no, it's surprise. After he gets over that, the man can't unclasp his white cloak fast enough, letting it fall from his shoulders as he lays his sword down on the ground and bows his head.

"As your grace commands."

The rest of the Kingsguard follows suit in short order, unclasping their cloaks, dissolving the Kingsguard in it's entirety. Daenerys already has the makings of a Queensguard, to be fair… but she has no desire to place her life in the hands of any of the Knights who served Robert or Joffrey Baratheon. Even if that's not quite true, given the fact that she as Ser Barristan at her back, even now.

Regardless, with his brother's fate now known to him, Tyrion turns back to her in full and hastens to bend the knee.

"I pledge myself to you, Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I will serve you in whatever way you see fit."

"Rise then, Lord Tyrion. Rise as my Lord Paramount of the Westerlands."

Once again, Daenerys' first instinct would have been to cut the whole house out at the root. The Lannisters may not have started the rebellion like the Baratheons and Starks did, but at the end of the day, they'd done something worse, turning on the Targaryens at the very end of the war in order to better secure their place on the winning side. That alone would have prompted Daenerys to destroy the entire family, every last one of them.

But this was better, as Drogon's ideas usually were. She'd heard from plenty of people at this point just how much Tywin Lannister, the man who'd truly betrayed her family, had hated Tyrion. His youngest son, a dwarf, a half-man… it was a fitting fate for House Lannister to be led by such a man, at the end of the day. A fitting acknowledgment of Tywin's… legacy that his children would be split in three directions. His daughter, concubine and fuck toy of a dragon for the rest of her days, his elder son, a member of the Night's Watch. And finally, his youngest son, the hated dwarf, sat upon Casterly Rock.

Oh yes, Daenerys could appreciate the irony of such decisions, which was why she'd let Drogon persuade her to do the things she'd done today. Now that it was all over though… there was only one thing left to do, really.

-x-X-x-

"It doesn't look very comfortable, does it Missandei?"

"No, my Queen, it does not."

As Daenerys and Missandei stand there at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the Iron Throne, I snort derisively, stepping past them both and ascending said stairs two at a time easily with my long stride. My tail flicks back and forth behind me, my wings draped down along my back.

"Drogon?"

I don't say a word until I've turned and sat upon my mother's throne, which actually seems quite the fit for my two-legged form. This chair of melted swords and metal… it was not made for a human. It was made for a dragon. My tail curls around me for comfort, and my wings splay out as I rest clawed hands upon the throne's sides. My black scales grind against sharp sword points that would no doubt cut me if I were made of mortal flesh, rather than the dragon that I am.

"Drogon, what do you think you're doing?"

Ah, now my mother acts. Daenerys strides up the stairs to the Iron Throne and me with a look of outrage on her beautiful face, her cheeks puffed out rather cutely as she curls her hands into fists and stomps one foot. I just grin in the face of her anger, and reach down between my legs, sliding a clawed hand along my segmented, draconic member. It grows thicker by the moment, and Daenerys' eyes are drawn down to it, the Targaryen Queen's lips parting slightly and her tongue tracing out in unconscious anticipation.

"You wished for a more comfortable seat, mother. Did you not?"

Her face goes red, though with arousal or embarrassment, I know not. Likely both, even if it's just the three of us in the hall, the throne room quite empty save for myself, my mother, and Missandei. Missandei, who even now is craning her neck to look around Daenerys and get a glimpse of my new form, her eyes as fixed on my large, thick member as her mistress' are.

The dark-skinned former slave longs to ride me again, I can tell. And perhaps she will get the chance, before the day is out. Or perhaps I will mount her after I finish with my mother. Either way, Daenerys is not one to remain idle for long. The outrage fades, and the longing that I have conditioned her to feel, that I have instilled in the beautiful young Targaryen, takes its place.

Her dress is hitched up in moments, and the Queen turns and presents her pale, naked buttocks to me as she prepares to climb backwards up into my lap. I take hold of her hips and help her, lodging the arrow-head tip of my draconic shaft up inside of her juicy wet cunt. Daenerys moans, and mewls, and then she groans as I slowly pull her back along my ridged, purple length, filling her inch by inch, until eventually, I'm bulging out her belly slightly, every last bit of my massive schlong buried in her drooling quim.

Even in my new form, it's only the fact that she's received copious amounts of my cum already that keep her from tearing easily. Even smaller as I am, this draconic cock of mine would make ruin of any woman not properly prepared for it. It would rip and tear up the insides of a human like no one's business. Ah, but that's alright. I'm very careful with my toys. Very careful indeed.

I bounce Daenerys on my cock once, and grin wickedly as she immediately squeals in orgasm. The violet-eyed Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, acting as my cock sleeve as I sit upon the Iron Throne. There's something to be said about that, and all of it is good. Delicious, even, to be here now, to be filling Daenerys with my member, to have made her effectively MINE in every possible way.

But she is still Queen, something she reminds me of through her resilience. Even as I begin to fuck her, Daenerys collects herself and grabs onto my hands for support, holding herself as a queen might, head held high and voice ALMOST calm as she speaks clearly to the only other person in the throne room.

"Missandei. A-Attend your Queen."

Besides that one slip up, she sounds completely in control. Whether Missandei believes that or not doesn't matter, because the dark-skinned young woman has been eager to join in from the very beginning. I watch as she practically tears off her own dress, something not even Daenerys has done. The former slave strips herself naked, likely for both mine and her Queen's pleasure, and then CRAWLS her way up the stairs to the dais upon which the Iron Throne sits, eyes fixed on one point and one point in particular.

The place where my big, fat dragon cock is currently splitting Daenerys Targaryen in half. Missandei kneels before the Iron Throne, finding her right and proper place between my spread legs, and leans in close to begin slurping and sucking at our genitals. One moment, she'll be lapping at my cock length, the next, she'll be nipping at Daenerys' clit. It really just depends where I'm at in bouncing my mother up and down my dick.

Regardless, Missandei knows her place, knows her purpose, and she carries out Daenerys' orders quite well. It's not long before the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is squirting her orgasm all over Missandei's face like a two-bit whore. Not long before Daenerys' cries of ecstasy fill the hall to the brim as she lays her head back on my shoulder, turning my head towards hers to kiss me on my draconic features.

I kiss her back, my elongated, serpent-like tongue slipping into her mouth and intertwining with her own mortal tongue. I kiss her… and I feel the power racing through me. I'm growing stronger, even now. The acknowledgment of Daenerys Targaryen as their Queen has given me even more strength, because in the end, my mother belongs to me as much as any of my other women. She is a part of my hoard, even if I give her much more freedom than most.

That was why I'd strived to have her spare most of them. Tommen, Tyrion, Loras… arguments could be made for the death or exile or each, but having them all in their seats, loyalty sworn to MY Queen gave me power untold. I didn't pretend to understand how it worked, but it certainly seemed that it was my duty to unite the Seven Kingdoms once more, because once I did that, I would be stronger.

Perhaps if I made them worship me as a god… ah, but then, that brought to mind the thought of the Faith Militant. I'd technically stopped Cersei from ever giving them power, but it was entirely possible that that High Sparrow of theirs would still find a way to make trouble without her. Would he make the same moves as he had before with dragons overhead though? Or would he try something else? I think perhaps it was up to me to take care of him, long before anything untoward could come to past. King's Landing was already a wretched, filthy place filled with plenty of scum that might want to do my mother harm. No point in leaving enemies at our back…

My release arrives, and I fill Daenerys with my seed without a word of warning. The surprise sensation takes the Queen off guard and leaves her with her eyes rolling back in her head and her tongue lolling out of her mouth in a fucked silly stupor. I stand up then, and Missandei scrambles back, watching me from the side of the throne as I take Daenerys and pull her off my cock, laying her to rest on the Iron Throne in such a way that she will hopefully not cut herself on any of the blades.

Then, I look to Missandei. I don't have to say anything. A simple glance is enough to see the dark-skinned woman turning away from me, prostrating herself on the ground before me, lifting her hips and her sizable, heart-shaped derriere into the air as an offering. It reminded me of our first encounter together, back in Essos.

Chuckling, I bring clawed hands upon her derriere as I mount her, spreading her wide first with my grip and then with my cock as I penetrate her. Missandei is as tight and wet and slick as ever, and I sink into her depths the same as I did when I impaled my mother on my cock. Much like Daenerys, I have no fear of hurting Missandei. The way has been prepared for me, and the dark-skinned former slave moans wantonly in pleasure, not pain, as I stretch her out on my shaft and fuck her right beside the Iron Throne.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh soon fills the room, and because of this, I don't initially notice another set of moans coming from the throne behind me. When I do though, turning and seeing that my mother has recovered and is now molesting herself to the sight of me railing her favorite servant, I make sure to turn Missandei around to face her, taking a fistful of the dark-skinned woman's hair and dragging her head up off the ground so that her Queen can watch her face contort with pleasure, and so that Missandei can take in the sight of Daenerys with her dress pulled down so she can grope a breast, and hiked up so she can piston two digits in and out of her cunt all the while.

Though, it's not long before Missandei is trying to pull away from me, and towards her moaning mistress. I understand why easily enough though, and allow it to happen, moving WITH the former slave, even as Missandei crawls forward, jolting with every thrust of my draconic cock, until finally she can bury her face in the Queen's muff, beginning to eat out Daenerys Targaryen of the dragon cum I'd just creampied her with.

The sight of my gorgeous mother creaming herself on her servant's tongue and the feel of said servant's tight insides clenching and squeezing around my cock, even as I use her womb as some sort of meat condom are what finally set me off. I cum inside of Missandei as I did Daenerys, and I fill the dark-skinned ex-slave with a nice, thick load of dragon seed.

Then, I pull back and just watch for a moment. Daenerys isn't letting Missandei stop, even though I'm no longer involved. The Dragon Queen has her legs wrapped around her servant's head, and her hands on her breasts now. For a moment, she opens her eyes, and I make eye contact with her, sending a simple but focused message to her and her alone, telling her I must go take care of some things.

She nods and moans throatily, waving me off as I take my leave. Chuckling, I depart from the throne room, intent on dealing with some of the threats to my mother that plague King's landing.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	16. Chapter 16

"The Dragon Queen and her armies are approaching the Twins, father. Are you sure that we should be antagonizing her?"

Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing and more recently Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident peers at the boy before him with sunken, beady eyes. In truth, the boy was probably more of a man, but when you got to the Lord Frey's age, every other man was effectively a boy to you. This particular boy was impudent, which likely meant that he was someone important. One of Walder's many sons, perhaps? Hmph, probably even his direct heir, if he thought he could question his father like this.

Not that Lord Frey could say for certain. He could hardly be bothered to remember who the fuck everyone in his worthless family was, these days. The only thing he bothered to pay any mind to was the tightness of his current wife's cunt, or the lack thereof. If the cunt was loose, then Lord Frey knew it was time for a new wife. Though, that didn't mean he was in any way incompetent. He just had his priorities in order.

"Of course, I'm sure, boy. Everyone pays to cross the Twins. No exceptions. The more they have to give, the more they pay."

"But father, they say she has three full-grown DRAGONS. She doesn't need us, not really. And our deal for the Riverlands was through the Lannisters, so how do we know we can-?"

"Silence! Do not question me, boy. This Targaryen wench might have dragons, but she also has armies. Armies that will need to cross here, or not cross at all. Do you think me a fool? Do you think me senile? Forcing this Dragon Queen to deal with me will secure our hold on the Riverlands, and our family's new status as a Great House for centuries to come! She will acknowledge our claim, or she will not be allowed to go North, as she so clearly wishes to!"

The boy opens his mouth again, and Walder is almost at his wits end, ready to run the brat through, regardless of his blood. But whatever his likely heir is about to say to him is lost by a sudden massive crash, the entire room shaking and shuddering under a HUGE impact. The younger Frey ends up falling on his ass, while Walder Frey barely holds onto his chair, which luckily, is large and big enough not to topple over.

"What in the blazes was that? BOY! Go find out what the fuck is going on!"

But the brat doesn't even get off of the ground. Instead, he's looking past Walder, towards the large window just behind the Lord's throne, and he's pointing and gibbering like a complete fool. With a snarl, Walder Frey whips around to see exactly what has one of his sons in such a state. What he finds confuses him, at first.

Rather than the usual vista of a cloudy sky, sometimes with a sun peeking through said clouds… Walder doesn't see the sky. It's as if something has covered up the window, but it takes him a while to actually figure out what that is. Tinged with orange and yellow, the eyeball is wide enough to cover the entire window, at least four or five times the size of a man. Only when it blinks does Lord Frey understand what he's seeing.

"What the fuck…"

Slowly, the ninety-year old Frey stands up, nostrils flaring as he turns entirely to face this… eye. But it doesn't remain just an eye for long. Pulling back, the eye is shown to be attached to a massive, draconic head, larger than the entire room that he and his son are standing in. Attached to that head is an equally massive maw, filled with sharp teeth that are each easily the size of a knight in full plate armor.

Said maw turns towards the window. It opens wide. And in the back of the gargantuan beast's throat, Walder Frey sees fire building. For the last time in his exceedingly long life, Lord Frey feels fear… and then the window shatters under the sheer force of the dragon's flames, and he feels nothing at all as he ends up a crisp pile of blackened ash on the floor of his throne room.

-x-X-x-

In the end, I didn't get to eat Lord Walder Frey. More accurately, I didn't want to. Not even his skeleton survived direct contact with my flames, showing just how old and brittle he was. His son, on the other hand, was laid out on the floor when I explodinated the inside of the Frey throne room, and with a lot more meat left on his bones, he crisped quite nicely. So, I ate him. And then I got to the task of eating every Frey man I could get my hands on, while at the same time laying the Twins to utter waste.

On my mother's orders, which had in turn been influenced by my suggestions and Sansa's feelings on the matter, I was to destroy the entirety of House Frey, as well as the source of all of their ill-gotten wealth and power. The family of scrounging rats had been allowed to use their position as the only truly safe crossing of the river they sat astride for far, far too long. Perhaps if they'd been more loyal, perhaps if they'd been more decent folks, they could have kept their power and their wealth.

But Lord Walder Frey had been allowed to reign as Lord of the Crossing for far, far too long. He'd been allowed to live for too long, to be perfectly honest, and as far as I was concerned, he'd poisoned the rest of his family, at least the males, with his idiocy. The male half of the Frey line was scheduled for a cleansing, and a cleansing I performed.

In my true form, in my purely dragon form… I was as big as a castle now. I'd surpassed every expectation of size at this stage in my life, from what I remembered of Drogon at this point, to how I compared to the skull of Balerion the Black Dread himself. I was very, VERY large… and it was a sign, as far as I was concerned, that I wasn't entirely a Planetosian Dragon, at least not anymore.

Perhaps I was never meant to be. Whatever or whoever had put me in this world, in Drogon's body… they'd clearly given me some added advantages. What I had now, this ability to grow my power through growing my hoard, it wasn't something that could just be gained from eating some charred Warlock back in Qarth. My ability to transform into a smaller, two-legged form didn't come from that either. I was constantly evolving and constantly growing.

As such, it was all too easy to lay waste to the Twins. I was careful only to destroy the castles though, of course. My mother still needed the bridge relatively intact if she was going to go North and fight the Night King, after all. Technically, she could have transported her armies by ship up to White Harbor, but it was better, now that she was the mostly undisputed ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, that she be seen by the smallfolk she was going to rule. That her armies and her dragons be seen as well.

So, we'd traveled by land, rather than by boat. I, of course, had traveled by air, going ahead to… clear out the riffraff for my mother. The castle complex built on the river crossing broke apart quite nicely beneath my claws, and the Frey men that tried desperately to fight me burnt and charred just as easily as those who tried to flee.

By the time my mother arrived, I'd eaten my fill and then some, and was lounging in the completely demolished ruins of the castle on the side of the river closest to them. The only people that I'd left mostly alone had been the women and children, of which there were plenty. And, of course, Edmure Tully. Luckily for him, he'd been prisoner. Which meant he was down in the dungeons, at the very bottom of the castles that I'd been sent to demolish.

Having plucked the filthy human out of his cell, I now lay there with him on the ground in front of me, staring at him, mostly out of boredom, as he trembled in fear. There was something undeniably amusing about the whole situation, though if my mother didn't get here soon, I would probably have to stop fucking with the little Lordling. To his credit, he had yet to soil himself, at least. Though he certainly stank enough already from his imprisonment that I wasn't sure I would know if he even did to begin with.

Still, the Queen should be here soon enough. Daenerys was right behind me, when I'd taken flight earlier this morning.

-x-X-x-

As Daenerys walks through the ruins of the Twins, she can't help but smile. Certainly, there's plenty of devastation to be found. It would be a horrifying sight, to just about anyone else. But not to her. Not to the Mother of Dragons. How could she be anything but pleased with her greatest child's work? And Drogon certainly was the greatest of her three dragons. Viserion and Rhaegal were… small, compared to their sibling. At least, they were when Drogon wasn't in his humanoid form.

Daenerys didn't pretend to understand it. Though of course, she also didn't let on in public that she DIDN'T understand it. It was important to keep up a front, to present herself as the Dragon Queen. Her Drogon was undeniably special though… and that was made all the more obvious as she approached him where he laid, sprawled in the midst of a completely destroyed castle, one reduced to its foundations.

He wasn't alone though, and as she moved closer, her Unsullied and Missandei at her side, Daenerys eyes the dirty looking man sat staring up at Drogon with curiosity.

"Drogon? Who might this be? A Frey, perhaps?"

At hearing her voice echo through the otherwise silent area, the man on the ground spins about to look at her. Daenerys does the same, and what she finds is… rather disgusting. She immediately pegs this man, not as a Frey, but as a prisoner of some sort. He's clothed in rags, or at least garments on their way to becoming rags, and he's clearly filthy, not having bathed in some time. Either, he was the Frey's prisoner, or he's some random smallfolk… but Daenerys knows that Drogon would not waste her time with the latter.

"… Uncle Edmure?"

But in the end, the answer comes not from the man, or from her dragon, but from beside her. Daenerys looks to where Lady Sansa Stark stands, remembering now that the red head had come along with them as well. Sansa is looking at this filthy man with something akin to shock. Said man is looking back at her in shock as well.

"S-Sansa?"

His momentary strength fails him then, and he falls back down to his knees. Daenerys hums in consideration, even as Sansa steps up to her direct left.

"Your Grace, this is Edmure Tully, of House Tully. He is, technically… the Lord of the Riverlands."

Well, that certainly explained why Drogon had let him live. Daenerys lets out a breathless sigh, followed by a soft chuckle. She looks upon her greatest child, currently larger than she's ever seen him, and shakes her head in amusement.

"You always do bring me the best gifts, don't you Drogon?"

She might wonder if he can even hear her from here, given how large he is. His ears are a hundred feet up in the air, at least. But he looks at her with one massive eye in obvious amusement, and she feels his presence in her mind, pressing against her fondly. She presses back as best she can with her thoughts, trying to convey her love and affection for him. Of course, he quickly twists that into lust, and Daenerys goes slightly pink as she has to lock her legs together to keep them from buckling right then and there.

Forcing herself to focus on the matter at hand, Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, strides up to where Edmure Tully kneels before her, completely filthy and dressed in rags.

"Lord Tully. You kneel before your Queen, which is a good start. Will you pledge yourself to me, as many of your noble peers have so far? Will you give your fealty to your Queen?"

Even the strongest man could be broken by months of captivity, and Daenerys need only take one look at Edmure Tully to know he is not a particularly strong man. And yet, her estimation of him rises a little when the first thing out of his mouth is not a pledge to her, but a question concerning the fates of his wife and child.

"Please, your Grace… I… I would ask something of you in return, if I am to pledge myself. If they still live, my wife and child… I would ask that no harm befall them, despite their Frey blood."

Daenerys hums at that and looks to Drogon. She's subsequently sent an image, a vivid picture in her mind's eye of the woman and child in question. In point of fact, she actually recognizes them. The Queen and her armies had not been particularly idle, while Drogon had been destroying the Twins. After all, there had been plenty of scared people running right into their arms for her men to process. While some had of course fled North instead of South, Daenerys could say with confidence that the woman and babe that Edmure Tully were talking about had come South.

"Your wife and child still live, Lord Tully. They will be allowed to join you at Riverrun, of course, as soon as you swear fealty to your Queen."

And so, surrounded by the ruins of the Frey's castle, with a massive black dragon on one side and Daenerys and her army on the other, Edmure Tully, dressed in rags and positively filthy, swears himself to her. As he should. If Drogon was willing to spare him, then the Lord was probably worth keeping around. Her draconic son's advice hadn't failed her yet, after all.

Still, as Daenerys accepts Edmure's oath, she steps past him a moment later, gesturing to Sansa.

"Take care of your uncle, Lady Stark. And the rest of you, begin to clear the rubble away, so that we may cross the Green Fork."

No one questions her, no one asks what she will be doing. She is Queen, after all, and her business is her own. Not to mention, when you see your Queen walking towards a truly massive dragon and climbing aboard his back, you didn't question it, you just trusted that if Drogon, the second coming of the Black Dread couldn't handle any danger, that you wouldn't be able to either.

Though, as everyone else gets to work, a woman dressed in red does watch as Drogon flies off with the Queen on his back. And after a moment, she bids her horse to follow in the direction that they're going, hoping that they will set down somewhere at least within range of horseback.

-x-X-x-

Kinvara licks her lips as she slides off of her mare and ties its lead to a nearby tree. The Queen and her dragon are just beyond this clearing, over the next hill. She is looking forward to this more than she would care to admit. The last few months since joining Queen Daenerys retinue and finding herself forcibly installed in service to the Mother of Dragons have been… a whirlwind, to be sure.

But all the same, Kinvara, formerly the High Priestess of Volantis, Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, and First Servant of the Lord of Light, is so very sure that she is on the right path. Daenerys Targaryen is the One Who Was Promised. And her dragons, specifically Drogon… they are gifts from the Lord of Light himself. Otherwise, why would servicing Drogon feel so good? Why would she long for it, despite him growing beyond her capacity to pleasure?

The Red Priestess hasn't touched the dragon in weeks now… she misses it. She misses him. She misses drinking his seed, practically bathing in it. She needs it… which is why she sneaks up on her Queen and her Queen's dragon even now, disturbing their privacy, creeping along. After all, the Red Priestess is very aware that Queen Daenerys takes part in pleasuring Drogon as well. And yet, where Kinvara finds herself no longer capable, the Queen has not missed a beat.

How is that possible? She must learn the other woman's secrets, no matter the cost. Moving up and around the hill, Kinvara half-expects to find a truly massive clearing or quarry beyond it, something that could fit Drogon's immense size comfortably, in a way that even the ruins of the Twins couldn't, not truly. She's surprised to find a relatively small space instead, a nook of sorts, nestled in between several hills.

There, she finds the Queen. Daenerys Stormborn, her dress slipped down to her waist, kneels before a being that Kinvara doesn't recognize at first, and sucks his cock. For a moment, Kinvara just watches. The Red Priestess doesn't comprehend what she's seeing, not right away. She's not proud of it, but in the end, it takes her far longer than she would care to admit to realize that Daenerys is slurping away at a draconic cock, attached to a draconic creature. And while said creature is almost human-sized, he is in no way human… and given his draconic features, his scales, his coloring… it's rather obvious who exactly it is, in the end.

Kinvara falls to her knees as a gasp leaves her lips, drawing Drogon's eyes to her. But not Daenerys'. The Queen is focused entirely on her task, sucking and slurping away at her transformed child's cock, bobbing up and down on his member like a lustful Lysene whore, rather than the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not that Kinvara blames her. Seeing him like this, seeing his cock at such a more manageable size, Kinvara finds herself salivating, and the place between her thighs grows wet in moments.

Surely… surely this was just another sign from R'hllor himself. The Lord of Light truly had gifted the greatest of Daenerys' dragons with immense power. She had never heard of a dragon, even from the time of Old Valyria, being capable of all Drogon had proven capable of. But if the Lord of Light himself had blessed him, altered him, changed him… then it all made sense, didn't it?

Drogon still hasn't given her presence away. Kinvara finds her hands unconsciously touching her body as she licks her lips and stares into his yellow-orange eyes. It's as if he's challenging her to reveal herself. She's not going to get anything from him unless she does, Kinvara knows that. But she'll admit, she's afraid of interrupting the Queen.

Her desire to consume Drogon's seed soon overwhelms her fear though, and swallowing the lump in her throat, Kinvara pushes herself up onto her feet and stumbles out of her hiding place and into the clearing directly. Her approach is not missed by Daenerys, not now that she's being so obvious about it. The beautiful Queen pulls back from her child's rigid, inhuman member and looks to her, eyes narrowing in irritation at the intrusion.

But then Drogon chuckles deeply and speaks.

"Do not begrudge her this, mother. She hungers so desperately. Let her have a drink."

Kinvara is fairly certain that there exists no one in the entirety of the known world that could get away with talking to Daenerys Targaryen like that, save for Drogon. Of course, until this moment, the Red Priestess hadn't even known that he COULD talk. Daenerys' irritation washes away, and the Queen turns somewhat considering, even as she rises from her knees and turns to face Kinvara, standing at Drogon's side.

They make quite the pair. Black scales juxtaposed beside white, pale skin. Daenerys' dress is still off of her shoulders and resting around her waist, leaving her upper body completely exposed. She makes no effort to cover herself though, her soft, supple breasts on full display. And yet, she still holds herself with the regality of a Queen, even now.

Just as she still holds her dragon son's cock in her hand, even now. Stroking it up and down, Daenerys considers Kinvara for a time… before finally nodding.

"Come forward then, Red Priestess."

Kinvara lets out a breath she hadn't even known she was holding, and all but sprints forward, falling to her knees right in front of Drogon's much more manageable, but no less magnificent cock. Making sure to emulate her Queen, Kinvara slips her own dress off of her shoulders, exposing her chest as well. Then, the Red Priestess leans in and grabs hold of Drogon's cock with both hands, even as she nuzzles his ridged length with her face.

Said face is no doubt quite red, and her nostrils are flaring open quite wide. Kinvara is under no illusions to how she looks right now. Like a wanton slut, in need of her next… meal. But while it matters the world to her what her Queen thinks of her, Kinvara imagines that Daenerys will not begrudge her this, at the very least. Though that doesn't mean the Targaryen Queen is just going to stand idle.

Feminine fingers slide through Kinvara's dark hair and Daenerys takes firm hold of her locks, before forcing Kinvara to place her lips right at the tapered tip of Drogon's draconic member.

"Open."

The single-word command from her Queen is of course immediately followed, and as Kinvara opens as wide as she thinks she can, she quickly finds out she can go even wider, as Daenerys firmly and forcibly pushes her down Drogon's length. Inch after inch of his massive cock disappears past her red lips, and her jaw is stretched to the breaking point as he continues on his way, right past the back of her throat, down into her gullet.

Unable to help herself, Kinvara gags on the significant intrusion. As much as she FEELS like a pleasure whore right now, there's no denying that the Red Priestess, R'hllor's former High Priestess in fact, is unused to having to take such a member down her throat. By the time she'd entered Daenerys' service, Drogon had been far too large for that after all, and she'd had to settle for using her entire body to get him off instead.

Regardless, Kinvara chokes and gags and gurgles around Drogon's draconic member, but that doesn't stop Daenerys… nor does the Red Priestess want it to. That she must suffer for the reward she hopes to earn is par for the course for a woman who spent her life in service to R'hllor. She will do anything to make Drogon happy, to bring him to release, so that she may once again drink of his powerful seed.

Its not long before her eyes water from the exertion though, and involuntary tears stream down her perfectly sculpted cheeks. Drool collects on her chin, and eventually drips off onto her naked, exposed breasts. Daenerys speeds up the pace at which she's fucking Kinvara's skull back and forth across Drogon's cock, until eventually, the transformed dragon groans, and both women realize he's getting close.

Without hesitating, Daenerys drags Kinvara away from Drogon entirely. Lost in a haze of lust and a significant lack of breathable air, the Red Priestess can barely muster a reaction beyond a confused whimper, before the Dragon Queen has taken her place. Though, Daenerys doesn't kneel again, as she was doing before. Instead, the impetuous monarch spins herself around and impales herself on Drogon's member, just like that.

Her son's large, clawed hands are quick to grab his mother by her chest and body and pull her close. Kinvara is left kneeling there in front of both of them, feeling distinctly used as Daenerys' throaty moans and screams fill the clearing, a rough, fast-paced fucking that manages to bring the Mother of Dragons to an explosive orgasm before finally, Drogon is milked of his seed.

… She is loyal to her Queen, loyal to the One Who Was Promised. It is obvious that the Lord of Light wants Kinvara to assist Daenerys against the Army of the Dead. But for the first time since Drogon had carried her off all those months ago, Kinvara is almost ready to break with her oaths, to break with her Queen over the fact that Daenerys just stole the load of seed that Kinvara had just worked so hard for.

Staring up at the Dragon Queen as she leans back against her transformed dragon's chest and twists about to kiss him deeply, Kinvara has never felt more… murderous. She's never felt more envious, either. She wants it to be her, instead. She wants Drogon's seed, d-damn it all! For a few moments, Kinvara just kneels there, her exposed tits covered in drool and her beautiful face covered in tears, as she watches Daenerys and Drogon interact. Her eyes are eventually drawn downwards, to where they're joined together at the crotch, his ridged member, the cock that she'd been so thoroughly sucking, buried in Daenerys' tight quim.

Kinvara wondered briefly, if the Dragon Queen might end up pregnant, one of these days. Such thoughts are dispelled however when the first peek of white, hot dragon seed begins to slip down from where they're joined together, Drogon's load already dripping out of Daenerys. Kinvara's eyes go wide and her nostrils flare, and she moans wantonly in sheer desire.

This draws the attention of the Queen, who looks down at her with a regal smile, even as she pulls herself off of Drogon's cock just as easily as she impaled herself on it. She steps forward and fists both hands in Kinvara's hair… before dragging the Red Priestess in close.

"You needed to be punished for interrupting Drogon and I… but now I suppose I can give you a treat."

And then Kinvara finds herself eating out the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms as Daenerys grinds her creampied cunt all over the Red Priestess' face. And as her tongue tastes Drogon's seed for the first time in weeks, as she breathes in the delicious scent, Kinvara's eyes roll back in her head, and she cums on the spot before mindlessly and eagerly slurping out the draconic cum from within her Queen's freshly fucked quim.

 **-x-X-x-**

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	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Fair Warning, this chapter starts with a pretty graphic description of a torture victim. It gets better though xD**

 **-x-X-x-**

I wouldn't have found her, if not for my decision to deal with Ramsay's hounds… personally. Unlike the Late Walder Frey, the Boltons were not so foolish as to ignore a Targaryen Queen, her armies, and her three dragons. They'd sent out emissaries to try to meet with Daenerys as she'd marched north under my coaxing direction.

It was also under my coaxing direction (though Sansa played a part as well in this) that Daenerys gave the emissaries an ultimatum. Switch allegiances and swear loyalty to her and her alone… or die. Surprisingly enough, one of the emissaries actually had enough loyalty to the Boltons to choose the latter option. I got to eat that one. The other chose wisely and told us quite a lot about how the Boltons had set themselves up in Winterfell.

Not that it truly mattered, at the end of the day. Unlike Dragonstone, with its rows of Scorpions, designed for combat against dragons, Winterfell was sorely lacking in that regard. Oh, they'd gone ahead and tried. Roose Bolton, at least, was no man's fool, and from the look of things, he'd started construction on siege equipment designed to have a chance at taking down dragons as soon as he'd heard about the existence of me and my brothers.

Of course, at the size I was now, a Scorpion might as well be the same thing as a bow, for all the good that the bolts that came flying out of them could do against my massive body and my hardened black scales. I fell upon the army outside of Winterfell like a vengeful god, and while I was still careful to avoid getting punctured, I wasn't too worried about it. My power was growing. Not just in terms of physicality, though that was also true, but in other ways as well. My internal magic was expanding on itself, and new pathways were being opened to me.

I didn't quite know what I was destined to become yet, but I was more than excited to find out, if I was being honest. I thought… I thought I just might be growing beyond this world, slowly but surely. And perhaps that was exactly what whatever or whoever had put me here wanted out of me. Perhaps that was to be my eventual destiny.

Regardless, destroying the Bolton army outside of Winterfell was easy. But removing the Bolton infestation from the castle itself was a little bit more difficult than ending the male line of the Freys had been. After all, Winterfell wasn't the Twins. It was a bit more important than that, especially to people I and my Queen were now relatively close to. People named Sansa Stark.

So, in the interest of keeping Sansa's Ancestral Home intact for her to eventually rule over as Daenerys' loyal subject, I didn't demolish Winterfell down to its foundations as I had the Twins. Instead, I let the Unsullied, under orders from their Queen, do the dirty work. I did, however, show them the way. After demolishing the majority of the Bolton's army outside of Winterfell, I'd walked my way right up to the gates of the castle and, reaching out with one massive wing talon… I'd flicked them inwards.

The medieval hinges hadn't lasted for even a single second under my strength, blasting forward and even catching a few of the Bolton bannermen 'lucky' enough not to be on the demolished battlefield I'd just gotten finished with. The Unsullied had poured in through the hole I'd made, and Winterfell had soon fallen beneath their weight.

In the aftermath, I'd shrunk myself down into my more humanoid form and taken a walk into the kennels. Ramsay's dogs… they didn't deserve their fate. But he'd given them a taste for human flesh, which meant they had to be put down. As something of a lover of animals, I considered it my duty to be the one to do it.

… Alright, so I burnt them all to a crisp and then consumed them. Perhaps I was a bit peckish. But hey, I'd already eaten my fair share of people. What were a few rabid hunting dogs on the side, right? Regardless, it was on my way out of the kennels that I found her. In her own little cage, just down the way from where Ramsay had kept his dogs. Not kept in the dungeon, but in the kennel.

"Oh now… what's this?"

It took me a moment to even realize it WAS a her, as I stepped into the cage. She was, to put it bluntly, absolutely filthy and entirely unrecognizable at first glance. One might even mistake her for a beast at first glance. But no, she's human. She smells like a human, even if she also smells absolutely awful in several different ways.

My voice, however, does catch her attention. Her one good eye flickers up to meet my face, and I'm startled by just how… blue it is. Blinking, I crouch down and take a good, long look at her. She's knelt in the far back of the cage, likely because she doesn't have the strength to stand anymore. Her arms are chained up on either side of her, held in place by shackles that go up towards the corners, where the walls meet each other and the ceiling.

One of her eyes is just… gone. Gouged out of her head, from the look of things. The wound has healed poorly and is clearly festering. But then, the woman is covered in filth and wounds all around, and many of them are likely infected. Her hair has been shorn from atop her head, leaving her with an undiscernible hair color due to the sheer amount of mud and grime and filth covering her scalp.

She's naked, of course, and further down, her body is… ruined for lack of a better word. Her nipples have been flayed off, as have other parts of her breasts. All over her form, in fact, the vast majority of her wounds are from flaying. Until one gets to her digits, that is. Her fingers haven't been flayed… they've been cut from her, wholesale. Two fingers missing on her left hand, three missing on her right.

Further down, her genitals have not been shown any mercy either. Her clit has been removed, and her inner thighs have been half-flayed, leaving the skin just… resting back, not fully or properly removed from her. It is grotesque. The entire scene is grotesque. It's exactly the sort of thing a psychopath like Ramsay Bolton would engage in.

Though, I had to admit to some surprise. From what I knew of the Bolton bastard, he didn't tend to leave the girls alive this long. And it was obvious that this particular woman had been here for months, judging by the state of her. Ramsay's MO was to flay disloyal men, while hunting and killing pretty young women.

What made this one different? Was it her defiance? Even now, even in her current state, that single blue eye that was staring at me had so much… life left to it. Her body was a broken, mangled mess, but I could tell just by looking at her that her mind? Her mind remained intact. That was intriguing, and even exciting.

"I wonder… can you tell me your name?"

Her ruined face twists into something I can't quite decipher, all of the emotion and the like lost beneath the grime. But when she opens her mouth, I have my answer all the same. The ruin is not only outward… it's inward as well, her tongue clearly cut from her as a low hacking sound leaves her throat. An attempt at words? An attempt to spit on me? Either way, she gets nowhere, and I realize I won't be getting any answers from her like this.

However, as it was, I couldn't really stand to leave her in her current situation any longer anyways. Not when I was pretty sure I could do something about it.

"… I've never done this before, but it's not like you have anything else to lose, so just bear with me, alright?"

Giving that single glaring blue eye my widest, toothiest smile, I go ahead and reach out. There's no real place to grab onto that hasn't been disfigured and flayed, so I settle for simply tapping one of my claws, atop one of my index fingers against her forehead. And then I focus. It's not precisely healing, what I'm doing. I don't know if I'm capable of that.

What I am capable of is something like… localized reality-reshaping? I focus on what I want to happen, and it happens. Or so I think. Like I told her, I'd never ever done this before. Mostly because it was a new ability, one that had come to me shortly after I finished eating pretty much every man in the Twins and demolished the castle. That feast, combined with the amount of gold that my gracious mother had allowed me to add to my hoard from the Late Walder Frey's coffers, had given me something of a new level of power. It wasn't just adding maidens to my collection that did that, after all.

As I focus, the woman before me, flayed, disfigured, and maimed a dozen different ways… begins to shift and spasm. And the wounds? They start to fall away from her. Not literally. Nothing falls off onto the ground, thankfully, that would be pretty gross as well. No, rather, the grime and the blood and the wounds themselves all begin to disappear, closing up, healing over… but like I said, it's not quite healing. It's more like a reversal of time for her and her alone, turning back her body's clock to before she'd ever experienced this pain in the first place.

I could have done the same for her mind as well but based solely off of what I'd seen in that blue eye alone, I could tell that Ramsay's ministrations had not fully broken her, and so I would not rob her of her memories in that way. Instead, it's all physical… and as I turn back the sands of time for the poor woman, as her true shape and figure and features begin to come together, I find myself recognizing her.

Of course, it's not until her hair grows out of her scalp and her eye regrows and her lips are reconstructed along with the rest of her face that I truly realize who she is… but then, that fiery red hair always was the most distinctive part of her. And then she opens her mouth, and her newly reconstructed tongue moves this way and that for a moment, running along her reformed teeth, before she finally enunciates and speaks.

"Y-Ygritte… my name… is Ygritte."

Staring down at a woman I would have thought dead at this point in something akin to wonder, I chuckle lightly.

"Indeed, it is…"

-x-X-x-

Her name was Ygritte, and no matter how much that kneeler bastard had tried to make her, she'd never forgotten it, not even for one moment. It was why, in the end, after all of his flaying and maiming and the like came to a close, he'd taken her tongue before leaving her to die in her cage. Because she'd never said it, never called herself by the name he wanted her to take up.

Ramsay Bolton had wanted to take her and break her. Unfortunately for him, another kneeler bastard had gotten to her first. Jon Snow had broken her heart mere days before Ygritte and Tormund had been ambushed by some other kneeler fucks who called themselves the Umbers. Tormund… Tormund hadn't made it. But the kneelers apparently had some weird fucking thing about women, because they'd taken her alive. Not to claim her or fuck her, though she'd seen more than a few giving her those sorts of eyes, but just to imprison her.

Eventually, she'd been given to the kneeler bastard with a penchant for flaying and maiming. From there, Ygritte's torture had begun. She couldn't say how long it had been. She didn't exactly have a way of keeping track of time while in the cage, deep within Winterfell's kennels. It was practically always dark and always cold, only her Free Folk upbringing truly keeping her from dying from exposure.

The kneeler bastard had done the bare minimum to keep her alive as well, washing her a few times, even as he ripped her flesh from her body, removed fingers from her hands, tore out one of her damn eyes. Only after he'd finally grown sick of her cheek and removed her tongue had he stopped coming around. He'd told her something about a Dragon Queen making her way North, and how he would soon have a more beautiful woman than her to play with, or something like that.

Ygritte hadn't put much stock in his words. Either she would finally be allowed to die, or she wouldn't. One way or the other, she was quite happy to be left in the dark to slowly rot away by that point. It was better than having his attention on her, day after day. Of course, never in a million years had the Spearwife thought she would be rescued or saved. Even if someone did come for her, what life would she lead after all that the kneelers had taken from her?

It seemed that it wasn't just the Walkers and their magic stirring in the world though. At first, Ygritte hadn't quite understood what she was seeing, when the thing entered her cage and spoke to her. She heard his words, and she comprehended his tongue… but the rest of him… she was wondering if she was hallucinating. But if she was, the hallucination had then gone on to make her feel better than she had in a long time.

Only seemed right to name herself after he gave her tongue back to her, since that was his last question. But now the dragon creature was looking at her with an expression of surprised delight, and Ygritte really wasn't sure what was going to happen next. She'd been made whole again, but she was still naked, shackled, and kneeling in the middle of a fucking kennel. At least the kneeler bastard's dogs weren't yapping like they always did. In fact, the entire place was surprisingly quiet, given what she'd lived with for months.

"… Do you want revenge on Ramsay Bolton, Ygritte of the Free Folk?"

Ygritte's head snaps up at that, her blue eyes focusing on the dragon creature's face again. He looked almost like a man… but he was so obviously a monster. And yet, he spoke her tongue, and he healed her and… and now he was breaking her shackles, freeing her arms from their strained, uncomfortable position for the first time in months.

He grins slightly at seeing her obvious interest.

"He's not dead yet, I don't think. And I sort of have an in with the woman that will decide his fate. She's sort of my mother, you could say."

The Dragon Queen. Ygritte just stares in silence for a long moment, digesting this semi-new information and trying to process what was happening here, trying to go back and remember all the tidbits of information that the kneeler bastard had dropped her way while she was in his custody. Honestly, she hadn't been paying much attention at the time. That was on purpose, she'd ignored him in order to irk him. Now she wishes she knew what was going on, truth be told.

And yet, even if she didn't know all of the details, Ygritte was smart enough to know that no offer came without a price.

"What do you want from me?"

Her suspicions are proved true when this provokes a slight widening in the dragon-man's grin as he nods to her amicably.

"Smart girl. I would think that was obvious though. I want you. I suppose I could just take you… that is your people's custom, is it not?"

And then one of his clawed hands lashes out and Ygritte's eyes widen as she wonders if she's about to die. But instead, the claws merely close around her neck and he grabs her up, pulling her in close as she trembles in his grasp.

"There. Now you're mine, yes? My Free Folk wife."

He's not wrong, that is how it's done. When Free Folk wanted a wife, they went ahead and kidnapped one. Of course, the woman was meant to fight back, and any relatives that she might have could also potentially deal death to the man who dared to take her. The thing was, Ygritte had no one left to fight for her… and she knew she couldn't fight herself. Yes, the dragon-man had taken her. Now that he had her, she supposed if that was what he wanted from her…

Mouth dry, Ygritte wets her lips, her blue eyes shining slightly as she looks him in the eye. Her voice is raspy and hoarse, despite him seemingly healing her in every possible way, from her hair down to the very tips of her toes and fingers.

"Technically, Jon Snow has first claim to me… but he already renounced it. Which means Ramsay has the next best claim to me."

Her tone is appropriately suggestive, and she sees the understanding dawn in this dragon-man's eyes. He chuckles after a moment and pulls her from the cage. Ygritte lets him do so, and even lets him carry her out of the kennel. Perhaps under normal circumstances she would have demanded the right to walk, but given she was buck naked, she was willing to take the humiliation for the time being.

As it is, he takes her straight to another place instead, what looks to be a kneeler's bedroom. He gives her clothes, and while they're far too thin for Ygritte's tastes, it is nice to be wearing something again. Boots, pants, and a very loose-fitting shirt. Then, it's off to see this dragon-man's mother-queen.

-x-X-x-

We have perfect timing, of course. Given my connection to Daenerys, it's easy enough to make it so that the very moment Ygritte and I step into Winterfell's Great Hall, Dany is currently passing judgment on one Ramsay Bolton. As we enter, I reach out to my side and pull a dagger from the waist of one of the Unsullied guards. To his credit, he doesn't so much as flinch. In a way, I am an extension of his Mistress' will after all, and his loyalty to me is the same as his loyalty to his Queen.

Regardless, Ygritte has frozen up for a moment at the sight and voice of the Bolton bastard, who is currently trying to plead his case to Daenerys, using those dimples of his to look as childish and innocent as ever.

"Please, Your Grace. I am little more than a bastard. I could not go against my father, Lord Bolton. What was I meant to do? I had to follow his orders. Allow me to swear myself to your service. You will not find a better, more loyal servant in all the Seven Kingdoms!"

He really was a smarmy asshat, wasn't he? Unfortunately for dear Ramsay, I'd told Daenerys all about what I knew of the Bolton bastard, and Sansa had backed me up with what little she knew about the Bolton Family in general and the rumors of their propensity for flaying men alive and what not. Daenerys believed that my knowledge of Ramsay came from the scouting missions I'd taken up north while her and her armies were still traveling. Better that way, really.

Regardless, as Daenerys looks Ramsay up and down with an unimpressed glint in her eye, pretending not to notice mine or my companion's entrance, I lean over to Ygritte and press the pommel of the blade I'd taken from the Unsullied into her hand. She startles at the sudden sensation and looks down, realizing she's armed. I hold her steady for a moment though when she tries to move forward and give her a wink as I silently urge her to wait until my mother is done talking.

"And what of your other… hobbies? Did your father also order you to hunt, rape, and kill young women throughout the woods of the North?"

Ramsay's eyes widen at that, his smile dropping away, but before he can respond, Daenerys cuts him off with a sharp hand.

"No. You are scum, Ramsay Snow. I sentence you to die."

Only then do I let Ygritte go. Only then does Daenerys flicker her gaze past the man in front of her, back over his shoulder. Something of a smile spreads across the Queen of the Seven Kingdom's face.

"And who better to carry out the sentence?"

Daenerys doesn't know as much as she pretends to, obviously. But I have passed along some knowledge of what I've been up to through our connection while she's been busy holding court and passing judgment on the Boltons and their men. So, the Dragon Queen knows enough to know that the woman I've brought to the Great Hall with me is indeed a victim of Ramsay. Not that Ygritte would ever settle for being anything so weak as a victim.

No, Ygritte of the Free Folk is a survivor, and while there is some confusion in the court, Daenerys and I at least watch on with great relish as Ramsay turns around at the last second, only to lay eyes on a woman he thought he'd destroyed, physically if not mentally, made whole and hale before him once more.

"You-!"

And then Ygritte is slashing the dagger across Ramsay's throat, cutting him off and spilling his lifeblood across his body and the floor, and even herself, a nice thick arterial spray splattering across Ygritte's front, ruining the top I'd gotten for her and making her look like a mad woman… or perhaps the wildling woman she is.

I, of course, have not been idle as Ygritte moved forward, and even as Ramsay's corpse is falling to the ground, I'm coming to a stop beside the fiery red head and putting a clawed hand on her shoulder, holding her in place.

"I'm happy to introduce Ygritte, of the Free Folk."

Daenerys smiles sweetly, even as her eyes flicker between me and the woman who just carried out her sentence for her.

"Hello there, Ygritte. Am I right to assume that Drogon here has laid claim to you?"

To her credit, Ygritte doesn't flinch for even a second in the face of the Dragon Queen. Jutting out her chin somewhat defiantly, the wildling woman clenches her jaw as she nods her head sharply.

"Aye. I'm his… and he's mine. What of it?"

I grin slightly at that. It's nice to see that not even Ramsay the Bastard has been able to break Ygritte of her spirit. Daenerys' smile, meanwhile, grows a little more poisonous, though she doesn't take any visible offense, instead chuckling lightly.

"He is mine, actually. My beautiful son. But… I have gotten quite good at sharing him. As will you. Go with my blessing, Ygritte of the Free Folk."

Ygritte turns to me, and I smile as I take the bloodied blade from her hand and lead her out of the Great Hall, passing off the weapon used to execute Ramsay Snow to the Unsullied I'd originally taken from as we depart. When Ygritte takes the lead, I simply raise an eyebrow and follow. There's only one place she could take us after all, and that was back the way we came. Seemed that the wildling woman was ready to be claimed… or to do the claiming.

-x-X-x-

It's one thing to ride a man. It's another thing entirely to ride a dragon. Ygritte bites her lower lip as she climbs atop the dragon-man that had effectively saved her, allowed her to take her revenge, and claimed her, all in one fell swoop. Though now she knows him by name. Drogon… seemed rather uninspired, if she had to say so herself. Very close to dragon, really.

Didn't matter though. Even if she was unimaginative, the Dragon Queen certainly impressed Ygritte. Not that the red head would ever admit it, but she definitely had. It had almost seemed like warging, the way the Dragon Queen had somehow known exactly how to time her words so that she could make Ygritte's revenge into an execution that she herself had sanctioned.

But looking down into Drogon's eyes, gripping and stroking his draconic cock as she positions him at her entrance, Ygritte knows that she's not looking down at the Dragon Queen in a male body. This creature below her is his own person, with his own thoughts and his own power. Perhaps they had some way to communicate between one another, but if they did, it was far more than simple warging.

With a gasp, Ygritte slips Drogon's ridged, hot cock up inside of herself. Her eyes very nearly roll back in her head on the spot. She's been wet since she killed the kneeler bastard, so very wet, and as such, her insides are nice and slick as she slips down her new husband's cock, impaling herself upon his draconic length. Ramsay's blood still adorns her face and neck, and she knows that she'll have to wash it off eventually, but for now, she wants to wear it. She wants to be reminded every moment of what she did to that fucking piece of shit.

At the same time, he's dead and behind her. Now is the time to look towards the future, and that future seems to be dominated by this half-dragon, half-man currently beneath her. Ygritte places her hands upon his scaled chest and begins to bounce herself up and down on his thick, meaty cock. He's certainly the biggest she's ever taken inside of her. And… he's better than Jon Snow ever was.

It still hurts, Jon's betrayal. But at the same time, some small part of her still loves the crow, despite his choices. It's shameful, how weak she is, but she still finds herself wondering about him, wondering if he still lives. Of course, that makes her wonder about the state of the Free Folk in general. Have they made it to the Wall? Have they taken the Wall?

Ygritte is reminded of her favorite words to use on Jon. Now, they apply to her. She is the one who knows nothing. Looking down into Drogon's eyes, the fiery red head licks her lips and leans forward, her mouth inches from his as she continues to ride his cock towards a climatic finish for the both of them, his ridges feeling absolutely phenomenal on the inside of her cunt.

"You should, ah, know something, mm, dragon. The dead r-rise in the True North. The Walkers, a-ah, come f-from beyond the W-Wall."

She's fishing for information as much as she's informing him of something, she considers deadly important. As such, Ygritte isn't that surprised when he doesn't look shocked by her admission. He nods once, his clawed hands gripping at her hips but not slicing her to ribbons, and grunts as he thrusts up into her in a most satisfying way.

"Yes. I am aware. Why do you think I have pushed my Queen this far north so quickly?"

Ygritte's breath hitches at that. Because that means… they aren't alone. The Free Folk have been fighting the dead for longer than she can even say at this point. They've been trapped between an army of their ancestors' hungering corpses and the Night's Watch on their fucking Wall, and it's always seemed so… so pointless. Like they're trying to outrun something that can't be outrun.

But now this dragon beneath her, this Drogon who has claimed her as his own… he tells her that he knows. He tells her that he's come north, specifically to deal with the dead, though not in so many words. It hadn't even crossed her mind that there might be something or someone out there who stood opposite the Walkers, who wanted to defeat them, who would meet them in battle.

Ygritte is a strong woman. She's had to be, all her life, through every trial and tribulation that came her way. But in that moment, Drogon's words break her in a way Ramsay's actions couldn't. Letting out a sob of relief and a cry of ecstasy, the fiery red head falls forward and takes Drogon's face in her hands, kissing him with all her heart as she slams her hips down onto his strange, draconic cock and takes his seed deep inside of her womb.

The future is far brighter than she ever could have guessed. She's glad that she's lived to see it.

 **-x-X-x-**

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